UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


By  Marcel  Berger 


Ordeal  by  Fire 

The  Secret  of  the  Marne 

A  Life  at  Stake 


A  LIFE  AT  STAKE 


BY 


MARCEL    BERGER 

AUTHOR     OF 
ORDEAL    BY     MRE,"    "THE    SECRET    OF     THE     MARNE,"     ETC 


TRANSLATED     BT 

FITZWATER    WRAY 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Ube  fmicfterbocher  press 
1919 


COPYRIGHT,  1919 

BY 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 


Ube  •Knickerbocker  press,  flew  JL'orfe 


PAGB 


CONTENTS 

PART   I 

BOOK  I 
CHAPTER  I 

JEAN  DARBOISE,  AUXILIARY    ....         3 
CHAPTER  II 

Two  MASTER  CARDS      .....       10 

CHAPTER  III 

THE  TERROR  BY  NIGHT  .         .         .         .         .18 

CHAPTER  IV 

CHERISHED  DETAILS       .....       24 

BOOK  II 

CHAPTER  I 

ARRIVAL  AT  ST.  POL       .....       36 

CHAPTER  II 

THE  LEAST  UGLY  JOB     .....       49 

CHAPTER  III 
JEAN  STILL  HOPEFUL      .....       59 

CHAPTER  IV 

JEAN'S  COMRADES  68 


21 255G5 


iv  Contents 

BOOK  III 
CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

DAILY  PROMENADES       .....       79 

CHAPTER  II 

Two  GOOD-LOOKING  GIRLS     ....       83 

CHAPTER  III 

OLD  LOVE  LETTERS        .....       88 

CHAPTER  IV 
AN  AIR  RAID         ......       91 

PART  II 

BOOK  IV 

CHAPTER  I 

A  CONCESSION       .         .         .         .         .         .105 

CHAPTER  II 

A  COSTLY  LIE 109 

CHAPTER  III 
A  CONTRADICTORY  SITUATION.         .         .         .120 

CHAPTER  IV 
A  GOOD  FRIEND     ......     132 

BOOK    V 
CHAPTER  I 

ANDREE'S  ARRIVAL         .         .         .         .         .142 

CHAPTER  II 

SECRET  TORMENT 150 


Contents 

CHAPTER  III 

PAGE 

A  HOLIDAY   .......     160 

CHAPTER  IV 

A  GRIEVANCE         .         .         .         .         .         .172 

BOOK    VI 
CHAPTER  I 

AT  THE  FIRING-GROUNDS        .         .         .         .188 

CHAPTER  II 

SICK  LEAVE  .......     198 

CHAPTER  III 

BITTERNESS  AND  HATRED        ....     206 

CHAPTER  IV 
THE  FLIGHT  OF  ANDREE          .         .         .         .215 

CHAPTER  V 
A  PERIOD  OF  WAITING    .....     227 

CHAPTER  VI 
A  PACKET  FROM  PARIS   .....     234 

CHAPTER  VII 

AN  IMPOSSIBLE  TASK      .....     241 

CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  THE  "  BAKERY  "          .....     248 

BOOK  VII 

CHAPTER  I 

JEAN'S  MISERY      ......     258 


vi  Contents 

CHAPTER  II 

PAGE 

A  HEAVY  BLOW     ......     265 

CHAPTER  III 

CHRISTIAN,  A  MARINE    .....     272 

CHAPTER  IV 

GOOD  NEWS  ......     278 

CHAPTER  V 
GANDOLPHE  AND  THE  D'ESTIGNARDS          .         .     287 

CHAPTER  VI 

A  DECISION  .......     293 

PART  III 

BOOK  VIII 
CHAPTER  I 

THE  DAWNING  OF  A  NEW  DAY        .         .         .     307 

CHAPTER  II 
THE  LEAVEN  OF  STRENGTH      .         .         .         .313 

CHAPTER  III 
MILITARISM  .......     320 

CHAPTER  IV 
THE  SPARK  WITHIN  THE  SOUL          .         .         .     330 

CHAPTER  V 
.AFTER  THE  WAR — WHAT?       ....     343 

CHAPTER  VI 

A  WONDERFUL  HOPE 354 


Contents  vii 

BOOK  IX 
CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

A  FRIENDLY  MISSION     .  ...     369 

1    CHAPTER  II 

NEW  CONDITIONS  .  ....     379 

CHAPTER  III 

KINDLY  FEELING  AWAKENED  ....     387 

CHAPTER  IV 

A  TRIO  ....     392 

CHAPTER  V 

A  TREATY  OF  RECONCILIATION         .         .         .401 

BOOK  X 
CHAPTER  I 

THE  TASK  OF  LIFE  ....     409 

CHAPTER  II 

THE  WIND  OF  FORTUNE.         .         .         .         .417 

CHAPTER  III 

JEAN'S  PLEA  FOR  HIS  FRIEND  .         .         .     428 

CHAPTER  IV 
A  DISASTER  .  ....     443 

CHAPTER  V 

THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS    ....     444 

CHAPTER  VI 

WHERE  DUTY  CALLS      .....     456 


PART  I 


BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  I 

JEAN   DARBOISE,   AUXILIARY 

"WHO  has  no  water-bottle  strap?"  mildly 
asked  Sergeant  Bousquet. 

"And  handkerchiefs,  and  neckties!"  hurled 
the  adjutant.1  "My  God,  get  a  move  on!" 

"Me!  Me!" 

Some  hands  went  out.  But  each  man  kept  his 
foot  on  his  heap  of  equipment,  for  fear  of  possible 
felonies.  Little  Cazenave  was  trying  on  his 
helmet,  which  was  too  big  for  him.  He  struck 
an  attitude 

' '  Look !    Who'll  take  a  snapshot  of  me  ? " 

"Now  then!  What's  wanting  still?"  repeated 
the  sergeant. 

To  this  one  a  police-cap,  to  the  next  a  "house- 
wife," to  the  third,  cartridge-pouches. 

"What  are  the  pouches  for?"  cried  Cazenave, 
"seeing  we  don't  carry  rifles!" 

"Perhaps  they'll  give  you  one,  down  yonder!" 
growled  Corporal  Thuillard;  he  was  slender  and 
pale,  with  sunken  cheeks. 

1  In  this  case,  a  non-com,  grade  corresponding  to  regimental 
sergeant-major  in  British  Army. — TR. 

3 


4  A  Life  at  Stake 

"It's  a  bad  job!  Nowadays,  if  they're  arming 
the  auxiliaries " 

"Now,  ready?"  Adjutant  Lesdanon  began 
again.  "Eh,  Bousquet?" 

"I  think  we're  all  right." 

A  young  fellow  with  a  brown  and  refined  face 
who  was  sitting  on  a  pile  of  sacks  in  a  corner  of 
the  shed,  with  his  chin  in  his  hands,  seemed  quite 
detached  from  the  scene.  The  sergeant  went 
up  to  him:  "You,  Darboise,  are  you  fitted  up?" 

The  man  questioned  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"Me?  I've  hardly  anything." 

"How's  that?" 

"They've  pinched  the  lot — my  pouch,  my 
puttees " 

"See  to  it,  then!" 

"Not  worth  while.  To  begin  with,  seeing  I'm 
not  going " 

"Really?  You're  not  going?"  said  Lesdanon, 
aggressively. 

Jean  Darboise  raised  his  fine  proud  eyes. 
"I've  been  turning  it  over,"  he  said;  "it  would 
be  too  silly,  as  long  as  it's  not  my  turn.  They 
mustn't  make  mugs  of  men  that  way!" 

"That's  what  you  say!"  The  adjutant  came 
nearer,  with  an  evil  grin.  He  was  keeping  his 
eye  on  Jean — an  ugly  customer  he  was.  He 
had  already  had  a  little  talk  with  the  sergeant- 
major  ! 

"I  say  this — it's  quite  simple — I  ask — to  speak 
to  the  commandant." 


Jean  Darboise,  Auxiliary         5 

Lesdanon  shrugged  his  shoulders.  ' '  Command- 
ant Bineff?  But  it's  he  that's  put  us  on  the  job; 
and  he  never " 

"That  depends.     When  I  explain  to  him " 

"I'll  take  you  to  him.     Will  you  go?" 

"Come  on!" 

Pale  and  silent,  Darboise  got  up  and  followed 
the  non-com.  The  witnesses  of  the  scene  looked 
at  each  other. 

"I'll  bet  five  francs  he  gets  off!"  murmured 
Cazenave. 

"It's  certain,"  the  sergeant  asserted,  "that 
they're  playing  him  a  dirty  trick.  Passed  aux- 
iliary just  a  week  ago — and  hey  presto! — they 
send  him  away!" 

"It's  a  way  they  have  in  the  army!" 

The  corporal  said:  "Look  at  Cazenave.  He's 
not  very  charmed  to  be  hooking  it — but  is  he 
grousing?" 

"Well,"  replied  the  little  Bordelais,1  "I've  had 
fifteen  months  good  at  the  depot.  So  what  about 
it?  No  use  worrying.  There'll  be  some  cushy 
jobs  at  Dunkerque." 

On  the  way,  the  adjutant  did  not  try  to  make 
his  companion  talk,  and  Jean  was  not  sorry,  for 
his  heart  was  set  throbbing  by  the  simple  thought 
of  the  injustice  done  him. 

A  thousand  times  no — it  was  not  his  turn! 
Had  he  not  read  it  often  enough,  till  he  almost 
knew  it  by  heart,  that  Order  on  Auxiliary  Reliefs 

'Of  the  Bordeaux  district. — TR. 


6  A  Life  at  Stake 

for  the  Front? — "Territorials  must  be  gradually 
replaced  by  young  soldiers  from  the  interior; 
but  the  departure  order  of  the  latter  is  rigorously 
determined — from  Class  1917  to  Class  1902, 
while  those  who  have  seen  combatant  service 
must  be  put  back  to  the  end  of  the  list." 

And  they  send  him  away,  after  his  two  cam- 
paigns (separated  by  a  year  of  "temporary  sus- 
pension"), after  his  two  wounds! 

Anger  upheaved  him  at  the  recollection  of  the 
reception  he  had  the  night  before  at  the  Bureau, 
after  he  had  put  his  case.  Ah,  the  looks  that 
the  secretaries  slid  at  him — they  that  had  taken 
root  on  padded  seats  ever  since  the  mobilisa- 
tion! Ah,  that  insulting  reply  of  the  chief,  the 
red-faced  lusty  dog!  "What  for,  eh?  You're 
on  the  list.  Are  you  in  the  youngest  classes,  yes 
or  no?  Off  you  go,  then, — clear  out!" 

Jean  had  said  a  word  too  much.  "Pack  of 
shirkers!"  he  had  cried  as  he  banged  the  door. 
Should  he  appeal  to  a  higher  authority?  He 
would  have  done  it  had  he  not  been  conscious 
that  his  standing  with  the  commandant  was 
pretty  bad.  It  was  at  the  beginning  of  his  stay 

at  F that  Captain  Mascard  had  introduced 

him  to  Bineff .  There  was  a  very  brief  interview, 
in  which  the  old  lunatic,  as  soon  as  he  knew  that 
Jean  was  an  artist,  manifested  but  one  desire — 
to  get  him  to  make  an  enlargement  from  a 
photograph  of  his  little  dead  dog.  When  he 
had  gone,  Darboise  burst  out  laughing:  "The 


Jean  Darboise,  Auxiliary         7 

dirty  puppy!  If  they  only  paid  regard  to  his 
paint-brush ! " 

He  had  not  seen  Bineff  again.  Would  he 
remember  him?  As  he  climbed  the  stairs  to 
the  "Treasury,"  Jean  accused  himself  of  having 
lacked  diplomacy.  Andree,  his  wife,  had  urged 
him  to  be  ready  to  oblige.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  that  his  independent  temper  had  done  him 
an  ill  turn  in  his  dealings  with  people. 

The  commandant,  seeing  him  enter,  raised  his 
nose  from  the  piles  of  papers  on  his  table,  and 
his  eyes  began  to  gleam  under  their  glasses :  ' '  What 
is  it  brings  you  here,  my  friend?" 

"May  I  be  allowed,  commandant ?" 

' '  I  am  asking  you,  but  I  have  a  notion.  Your 
departure,  I  suppose?" 

"You  are  aware,  then,  commandant,  that — 
that  it  is  not  my  turn?" 

Bineff  sniffed,  took  snuff — his  inveterate  fail- 
ing. "Not  your  turn?  You  know  that  every- 
body says  that,  always?" 

"There  are  Orders,  sir." 

"I  believe  you.  It  rains  Orders.  They  say 
what  they  like.  One  pays  attention  to  them — 
when  one  can.  Moreover,  they  all  contradict 
each  other.  As  for  me,  they  ask  me  for  men,  and 
I  am  obliged  to  provide  them — auxiliaries,  for 
Dunkerque,  young  men.  I  see  your  name, 
'Darboise,  auxiliary,  Class  1913.'  I  send  you 


"There  are  others- 


8  A  Life  at  Stake 

The  commandant  frowned :  "Are  you  the  judge, 
by  chance?" 

"At  least,  there  are  the  'indispensables. '" 

"Exactly  —  and  I  forbid  you  the  slightest 
reference  to  that  subject." 

Jean  regretted  his  outburst:  "I  thought,  too — 
that  I  ought  only  to  be  allotted  as — secretary " 

"And  by  what  right?" 

' '  I  had  been  told  that  the  liberal  professions " 

"What  is  your  profession?" 

Darboise  reddened:  "I  thought  you  knew  it, 
commandant.  I  am  a  painter." 

"I  might  remember  it,"  Bineff  interposed 
ironically,  "if  I  had  ever  seen  any  of  your  work. 
Meanwhile,  I  may  remark  that  a  painter — that 
doesn't  necessarily  indicate  aptitude  for  secre- 
tarial work.  I  have  here  a  list  of  professions; 
painters  are  not  even  mentioned." 

Jean  fathomed  the  man's  insincerity.  "And 
my  arm?"  he  said. 

He  raised  his  left  arm — bent,  shortened,  useless. 

"I  tell  you  what  I  tell  them  all.  Go  there  first; 
if  they  can't  do  anything  with  you,  they'll  know 
how  to  send  you  back  again." 

With  his  case  crippled  and  shrunk,  Darboise 
looked  as  if  he  were  seeking  a  final  reason  for 
insistence.  Bineff  then  turned  his  piercing  little 
eyes  on  him : 

"A  last  word  of  advice,  my  lad.  In  your  own 
interests,  you'd  better  get  yourself  forgotten. 
Yes;  it's  already  lucky  for  you  that  your  affair 


Jean  Darboise,  Auxiliary         9 

was  squashed.  There  was  a  report  against  you 
by  Sergeant- Major  Bridron.  Don't  pretend  to  be 
surprised.  It  was  I  who  said  'Hum!  Let  him 
go  and  get  himself  hanged  somewhere  else!' 
You  ought  to  thank  me.  You  behaved  like  a 
blackguard." 

Jean's  lips  were  moving. 

"  It  is  useless.     I  beg  you  to  regulate 

Turning  on  his  heels,  the  young  man  went  out, 
and  a  fog  enfolded  him. 


CHAPTER  II 

TWO  MASTER   CARDS 

LESDANON,  who  was  waiting,  received  him  with 
a  broad  smile:  "Now  then — what  did  I  say?" 

While  going  down  behind  him,  Jean  turned  over 
in  his  mind  some  fancied  loopholes.  Appeal  to 
the  Service  de  Sante?1  The  chief  surgeon  was 
a  good  sort,  but  timorous,  and  he  would  dread 
an  encounter  with  Bineff.  To  Mascard?  Devoid 
of  influence,  and  anxious  not  to  compromise 

himself.     He  had  no  other  supporter  in  F . 

Give  in,  then?  Like  the  big  child  that  he  was, 
Jean  now  saw  in  the  matter  above  all  a  question 
of  self-respect.  The  whistling  of  the  adjutant 
at  his  side  exasperated  him,  as  well  as  the  vision 
of  the  broad  smiles  he  would  see  unfold  them- 
selves on  the  faces  of  his  comrades.  Biting 
his  lips,  he  considered  going  to  extreme  measures. 
Resist  point-blank,  and  refuse  to  go  under  these 
conditions?  What  did  he  risk?  Prison.  Very 
well,  one  would  see.  There  would  be  a  row.  With 
the  connections  that  he  numbered  in  the  world 
of  the  Press!  Chinard,  whom  he  had  seen  that 

1  The  French  equivalent  of  the  British  R.A.M.C.— TR. 
10 


Two  Master  Cards  n 

morning — Chinard  would  not  abandon  him.  He 
felt  in  his  heart  that  he  was  about  to  make  some 
irremediable  mistake;  that  he  could  not  help 
himself. 

At  the  storeroom  they  found  the  sergeant, 
alone.  He  had  just  sent  the  newly  equipped  men 
away,  in  charge  of  the  corporal. 

"Papa  Bineff  has  given  him  something  to  go 
on  with!"  said  Lesdanon,  triumphantly. 

Jean  was  within  a  second  of  letting  the  words 
slip  that  could  not  be  taken  back.  By  chance,  the 
adjutant  left  them — he  was  expected  at  the  mess 
for  a  game  of  cards.  And  Bousquet  said  gently 
to  Jean:  "All's  ready  for  you,  Darboise;  I've 
completed  your  outfit." 

He  showed  him  two  new  pouches  that  he  had 
hunted  up.  Jean  did  not  stir. 

"Come  on!"  The  sergeant  came  up  to  him: 
"I  know  well  enough  it's  not  your  turn.  No 
more  than  mine.  I,  too,  am  the  victim  of  a  got- 
up  job— 

"I  should  be  within  my  rights " 

' '  What  to  do  ?    Are  they  ever  in  the  right  here  ? ' ' 

"It's  hateful,  hateful!" 

The  young  man  rapped  the  floor  with  his  foot. 
Bousquet  went  on:  "Be  on  your  guard.  They're 
looking  for  an  ugly  story  against  you.  And 
then,  I  too,  I  should  get  myself  slanged  if  I  didn't 
take  you." 

The  argument  was  a  laughable  one.  Fortu- 
nately the  sergeant  had  a  better  inspiration: 


i2  A  Life  at  Stake 

"You're  married,  eh?  What  would  your  wife 
advise  you?" 

His  wife!  Jean  could  see  Andree,  and  he 
remembered  how  she  had  besought  him  to  be 
reasonable.  He  bowed  down,  in  silent  resem- 
blance to  the  other  who  was  busy  with  the  knot 
of  his  tent-cloth.  A  minute  later  both  were  going 
down  towards  the  town;  and  as  though  to  make 
Jean  forget  the  heavy  bundle  on  his  shoulder, 
he  saw  the  smile  of  a  well-loved  face. 

For  last  evening,  when  his  departure  order 
was  confirmed,  he  had  instantly  made  a  fixed 
determination  to  see  his  dear  one  again.  An 
official  permit  was  too  difficult  to  obtain.  Pro- 
vided with  a  spurious  authority  handed  to  him 
by  Machevent,  the  old  stager  of  the  depot,  he 
had  jumped  into  the  train,  and  at  eleven  o'clock, 
he  rang  the  bell  of  the  outer  door  of  their  house 
at  Sceaux. 

He  had  just  got  his  slippers  on,  when  Andree 
appeared  at  the  window.  "You,  you!"  she  cried 
as  she  ran  in,  and  then,  as  if  scenting  misfortune: 
"What's  happened?  What's  the  matter  with 
you?" 

"I  have — I  have  to  go  again." 

She  stood  still,  thunderstruck,  her  hands  on 
her  heart. 

"Dearest,  it's  as  auxiliary — for  Dunkerque. 
There  are  more  terrible  things  than  that!" 

"Oh,  don't  frighten  me  again  like  that!" 

Poor    Andree!    Always    disconcerted    by    the 


Two  Master  Cards  13 

inconsequent  suddenness  of  military  decisions, 
she  had  fancied  him — in  spite  of  his  arm  and  the 
recent  decision  of  the  Rejoining  Committee — 
sent  back  to  that  baleful  Douaumont,  from  which 
he  had  returned  only  by  a  miracle.  But  now, 
having  learned  the  truth,  she  showed  courage. 
He  thought  she  was  even  too  quickly  resigned  to 
it.  "Separated  again!  Think  of  it!" 

"I  shall  come  to  see  you." 

"Will  you  be  able?" 

"Why,  yes;  there  are  ways — "  She  was  al- 
ready turning  over  her  plans.  "Mamma  will 
look  after  the  little  one." 

"Poor  Momo!  For  a  certainty  they  don't 
want  me  to  have  any  pleasure  in  him!" 

He  went  to  the  cot.  The  child  was  lying  on 
his  side,  his  pretty  little  profile  standing  out  against 
the  white  pillow,  his  tiny  hands  holding  the  sheet 
away.  Jean  bent  low  and  kissed  his  forehead, 
with  the  wish  that  all  fathers  have — "May  there 
be  no  more  war  in  your  time." 

As  he  sat  down  to  rest  and  threw  his  cap  aside 
Andree  put  her  arms  tenderly  round  his  neck  and 
asked  him  for  further  particulars:  "But  how 
does  it  happen  that  you  are  chosen?" 

"A  monstrous  injustice!" 

Her  youth  had  been  sad.  She  had  lost  her 
father  when  quite  young,  and  her  mother  had 
brought  her  up  amidst  material  worries  of  the 
worst  kind.  So  she  had  had  earlier  experience 
than  he  of  the  meanness  and  maliciousness  of 


14  A  Life  at  Stake 

man.  Slower  than  he  to  lose  self-control,  she 
listened  to  him  as  he  paraded  his  grievances — a 
docker  on  the  Dunkerque  quays,  that  was  what 
they  had  found  for  him!  The  life  of  a  cart-horse ! 
So  much  for  his  mutilation! 

"I'd  rather  know  you  were  there  than  at 
Verdun!" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders:  "To  be  sure.  If 
only  I  could  see  the  chance  of  doing  some  of  my 
own  work!" 

"Ah,  that — that's  a  secondary  matter." 

"How  secondary?"  His  art?  Why,  that  and 
his  affection  for  her  were  the  whole  of  his  life — 
to  draw  and  paint,  the  twin  effort  to  transcribe 
the  mysteries  of  form.  Andree,  the  perfect 
partner,  was  aware  of  it.  She  added:  "Well, 
but  you'll  find  new  types  and  subjects  down  there. 
And  then,  if  you  dislike  it  too  much — well,  we'll 
get  you  out  of  it  all  right." 

The  memory  of  that  talk  now  flooded  him  as 
with  the  perfume  of  consolation.  It  was  his 
companion,  he  reflected  with  a  stirring  of  grati- 
tude, who  had  switched  his  thoughts  in  that 
direction. 

"You — are  you  married,  sergeant?"  he  asked, 
suddenly  friendly. 

Receiving  a  negative,  Jean  asked:  "Have  you 
been — down  yonder?" 

Bousquet  seemed  a  little  embarrassed:  "At 
the  beginning.  Several  weeks  only.  I  was  sent 
back,  sick." 


Two  Master  Cards  15 

A  silence  followed,  and  then  the  sergeant  thought 
it  his  duty  to  question  Jean:  "You've  been  there 
twice?" 

"Yes.     The  second  time,  at  Douaumont " 

As  usual,  the  name  had  a  magical  effect:  "Were 
you — in  the  big  attack?" 

"It  was  there  that  I  got — my  arm  hit." 
They  continued  to  go  their  way  side  by  side. 
Jean,  discovering  admiring  deference  in  the  other's 
silence,  had  a  fancy  to  go  over  again  in  his  mind 
those  forty  memorable  hours  at  the  end  of  Febru- 
ary— the  order  that  reached  them  in  Champagne, 
their  immediate  departure,  their  alighting  at 
Verdun  itself  on  a  wild  and  bitter  night  that  re- 
sounded with  the  German  artillery,  the  rousing 
proclamation  signed  by  the  major-general.  Under 
a  leaden  sky  and  along  muddy  roads  they  had 
marched.  At  dawn  they  had  filed  past  as  on 
parade  in  a  snow-covered  field.  Ah,  Jean  re- 
membered even  the  way  in  which  he  bore  his  rifle. 
Two  men  watched  them  pass — Castelnau,  dis- 
mounted, thickset  and  vigorous  under  his  cloak; 
and  beside  him,  Balfourier,  with  snow  on  his 
beard;  a  great  hour,  when  the  chiefs  and  the  rank 
and  file  exchanged  a  silent  oath. 

Of  the  battle  itself,  he  only  retained  a  confused 
memory:  the  advance  over  the  bare  fields,  under 
the  horror  of  the  barrage  fire,  the  finding  and  dis- 
lodging of  the  enemy  from  the  trenches,  his  own 
furious  excitement;  and  then,  forward  endlessly 
on  the  corpse-strewn  slope.  The  savage  shouting 


16  A  Life  at  Stake 

of  their  host,  the  ceaseless  blowing  of  bugles,  the 
crackle  of  machine-guns,  the  whistle  and  thunder 
of  the  big  shells,  all  this  was  a  mingled  memory. 
From  out  the  tumult,  only  a  few  sharp  pictures 
arose — that  of  the  prone  body  of  Captain  Monet, 
whose  severed  neck  streamed  blood;  and  that  of 
a  Saxon  in  peaked  helmet,  in  the  act  of  hurling  a 
bomb,  at  whose  feet  he  threw  his  own,  so  that  the 
Saxon  disappeared  as  if  he  had  been  snatched 
aloft. 

And  now  Jean  could  see  himself  again,  wounded, 
his  left  arm  hanging  limp,  sent  back — what  a 
journey! — and  a  long  stay  in  the  station  at  Troyes 
where  he  met  Antoine  Morand,  editor  of  the 
Quotidien,  a  journalist  of  the  Jules  Verne  sort, 
who  was  running  from  stretcher  to  stretcher  to 
extract  copy  from  them,  and  who  turned  out  to 
know  Chinard. 

Chinard!  Darboise's  reverie  came  to  an  end 
at  that  name,  the  name  of  one  of  his  few  remaining 
friends.  Chinard !  It  was  seven  years  since  they 
entered  the  School  of  Painting,  since  their  studies 
and  their  tastes  came  so  close  together,  near 
enough  for  them  never  to  spare  each  other  the 
truth,  whether  flattering  or  harsh.  There  was 
one,  thought  Jean — without  a  shadow  of  envy— 
who  had  no  cause  to  complain  of  the  war!  Sent 
to  the  front  at  the  start,  and  wounded,  he  had  had 
that  rare  luck  to  be  looked  after  in  hospital  by 
Paulette  Dartigue,  the  actress,  and  mistress  of 
Letourneur  the  banker,  who  owned  the  Quotidien. 


Two  Master  Cards  17 

Through  the  young  lady's  influence,  his  drawings 
began  to  appear  in  the  great  daily  and  had  imme- 
diately taken  the  public  fancy.  They  were  th  e  first 
realistic  records — in  October,  1914, — of  an  artist 
fresh  from  the  fighting,  and  their  success  was 
enormous.  Chinard  was  quick  to  take  advantage 
of  his  luck.  His  facile  talent  worked  wonders. 
What  a  jump  in  two  years,  what  a  soaring  flight! 
He  was  the  man  of  the  moment  in  his  line. 
Though  still  in  uniform,  he  was  provided  with  a 
sinecure  at  the  Ministry  of  Marine,  thanks  to  the 
protection  of  his  great  patron. 

Good  old  Chinard !  That  very  morning  Andr£e 
had  made  him  go  and  surprise  Chinard  as  soon 
as  he  was  up,  in  the  smart  flat  which  he  and  his 
mother  occupied  at  33  Rue  Franklin. 

"To  Dunkerque?  As  a  docker?  Why,  they're 
mad ! ' '  Immediately  he  added :  "I'll  speak  about 
it  to  Letoumeur.  You  must  be  got  out  of  that." 

In  that  hope  Jean  had  left  him.  It  comforted 
him  to  think  of  it.  He  flattered  himself  that  he 
was  not  altogether  unknown  to  the  managing 
director  of  the  Quotidien.  Were  there  not,  last 
year,  two  of  his  little  sketches  on  the  third  page 
of  that  daily?  Come — what  with  backstairs 
influence  and  real  ability,  he  had  two  master 
cards  in  his  hand ! 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   TERROR   BY  NIGHT 

WHEN  they  arrived  at  their  quarters,  the  hangar 
in  the  Rue  St.  Paul,  Jean  let  his  bundle  drop, 
sat  on  the  first  palliasse  he  came  to,  and  wiped 
his  forehead.  Thus  disburdened,  he  scanned  with 
inquisitive  and  ironical  eye  the  composition  of 
the  detachment  with"  which  he  was  setting  off. 

Besides  himself  there  was  one  other  wounded 
in  the  war — Habert,  a  sickly  outcast,  who  had 
received  a  piece  of  shell  in  his  back  at  Perthes, 
and  hobbled  lamentably.  What  would  they  do 
down  yonder  with  a  man  whom  they  had  had  to 
give  up  as  useless  even  at  the  depot?  For  the 
most  part  the  others  were  auxiliaries  of  the  young 
classes,  who  had  not  been  under  fire.  Jean  did 
not  look  at  them  without  some  slight  contempt — 
thick-headed  clodhoppers,  Mortas,  Yvonnat,  and 
Poitou.  There  was  Prestrot,  Mascard's  orderly, 
whom  the  commandant  was  sending  away  because 
the  captain  had  someone  for  the  place.  There 
were  four  who  always  stuck  together,  four  Bretons 
of  the  Draught  Corps,  arrived  that  morning  from 
Quimper.  Cazenave,  a  clerk  in  the  Discount 

18 


The  Terror  by  Night  19 

Bank,  contrasted  strongly  with  his  surroundings. 
How  many  departures  had  he  not  dodged  since 
the  beginning — always  under  the  overbearing  pro- 
tection and  favour  of  Bineff,  who  had  just  suddenly 
failed  him!  Cazenave  was  the  first  to  talk  of 
injustice  and  demand  his  rigid  right  to  be  employed 
in  an  office. 

He  had  been  away  for  some  minutes  and  just 
reappeared  with  an  anxious  air.  Quartermaster 
Lemaire,  who  had  been  at  Dunkerque  for  eight 
months,  had  just  outlined  for  him  a  sinister  picture 
of  the  life  one  led  down  there:  "It  isn't  so  much 
the  hard  work,  because,  as  for  that,  if  one  gets 
on  good  terms  with  the  major " 

"What  then?"  Jean  asked. 

"Ah,  the  bombardments ! ' ' 

"Pooh!" 

"Pooh?    There's  nothing  to  pooh  about!" 

Cazenave  proceeded  to  give  details,  quoted 
the  totals  of  killed  and  wounded.  Sometimes  by 
the  Taubes,  sometimes  by  Zeppelins,  and  at  ran- 
dom by  the  big  shells,  fired  over  twenty  miles 
away.  Ah,  above  all,  those  scenes  at  the  harbour, 
where  they  worked,  and  which  was  specially 
marked ! 

"You've  only  got  to  make  yourself  scarce — in 
the  docks!"  said  Jean,  rather  ironically. 

"Some  of  the  pals  did  that,  and  they  were  done 
in  the  water."  The  little  Bordelais  continued1 
"Every  evening  in  the  summer,  or  nearly,  it 
starts  again — the  bombs.  Then  you  see  the  few 


20  A  Life  at  Stake 

people  who  still  live  in  the  town  fleeing  along 
the  roads  to  take  cover  among  the  dunes.  In 
the  morning  one  counts  the  missing." 

His  audience  had  come  nearer,  to  listen  to  the 
talker  whom  his  own  words  were  inebriating,  and 
all  their  faces  were  dark  with  uneasiness.  Then 
Jean  began  to  laugh — "Glad  you  told  us  who 
gave  you  all  those  details!  He's  well  known — 
Quartermaster  Lemaire!  A  fine  scaremonger!" 

' '  To  hell  with  you ! ' '  retorted  Cazenave.  ' '  Have 
there  been  any  killed — yes  or  no?" 

"What's  a  few  killed?" 

"And  suppose  we're  among  'em,  what  then?" 

Although  he  felt  the  vague  hostility  around  him, 
Jean  replied:  "Compare  it,  my  dear  sir,  with 
what  went  on  at  Verdun.  On  the  days  we  at- 
tacked, I'll  bet  there  were  more  rattled  down  in  a 
minute  than  in  your  Dunkerque  in  six  months." 

Here  the  corporal  intervened:  "They  can't  be 
compared,  to  begin  with.  We — we're  auxiliaries; 
it's  none  of  our  job  to  get  killed!" 

"How  frightened  for  your  skins  you  all  are!" 
Jean  turned  towards  Habert,  seeking  support. 
"That's  so,  old  man,  you  that's  been  there? 
Don't  they  give  you  the  bellyache?" 

The  man  with  the  crippled  loins  threw  at  him  a 
glance  of  spiteful  defiance:  "Yes,  I've  been  there 
— all  the  more  reason  why  I  resent  going  to  get 
myself  laid  out!" 

Darboise  did  not  reply.  Some  of  Andree's 
advice  came  back  to  his  mind — they  who  had  been 


The  Terror  by  Night  21 

to  the  front  and  come  back  to  the  rear  should  not 
make  a  boast  of  their  different  viewpoint ! 

There  were  still  two  hours  before  leaving.  Jean 
wrote  to  his  wife  a  short  note  which  he  had  the 
courage  to  make  merry  and  confident. 

Nothing  attracted  him  in  the  town.  He  reck- 
oned no  friends  in  this  depot  where  chance  had 
brought  him  five  weeks  before.  His  friends  of 
former  days — how  few  were  left  him  in  the  world ! 
After  Chinard,  there  was  just  Augueres  who  had 
been  wounded  in  September  and  had  just  returned 
to  the  front.  Sadly  Jean  went  over  the  friends 
he  had  lost  by  death  in  the  last  two  years — and 
then  he  included  only  his  kindred.  Of  his  four 
groomsmen,  Templier  and  Boussac  had  fallen  at 
the  outset.  And  Lucien — the  poor  little  brother 
whose  loss  their  mother  did  not  survive — Jean's 
eyes  filled  with  tears  at  the  memory  of  the  two- 
fold mourning. 

What  a  time  it  was !  For  long  he  sat  with  star- 
ing eyes,  plunged  in  mournful  reflection.  His 
generation  was  sacrificed,  and  those  that  came 
before,  and  that  came  after — without  considera- 
tion of  the  worth  or  ability  of  individuals — men 
of  genius,  perhaps,  mown  down  like  grass.  Im- 
agine that  in  August,  1914,  they  had  nearly  sent 
to  his  death  the  Territorial  Claude  Boucheron, 
his  professor,  a  master  of  the  race  of  Rembrandt 
and  Callot,  the  foremost  living  etcher! 

With  this  thought  Jean  returned  to  his  art. 


22  A  Life  at  Stake 

The  cult  of  beauty  and  love,  of  expression  and 
form — he  had  lived  for  That.  And  now,  though 
it  uplifted  mankind,  it  seemed  to  have  lost  all 
prestige,  all  attractiveness  in  the  eyes  of  those 
others,  among  these  torments  of  hell.  He  felt 
himself  plunged  into  a  lower  world.  From  his 
hand-bag  he  sought  out  and  opened  a  roll  of  paper 
— rough  notes  and  sketches  of  his  former  activi- 
ties. Sincerely,  Jean  admired  himself  for  what 
he  had  then  accomplished.  Today,  the  road  was 
lost!  It  was  only  for  conscience'  sake  that  he 
was  taking  his  pencils  and  box  of  water-colours 
into  exile  with  him.  Only  too  likely  that  inspira- 
tion would  be  wanting  down  there,  when  he  had 
finished  his  day's  work  as  a  docker! 

Darboise  had  voluntarily  abandoned  the  pay 
due  to  him,  in  his  desire  not  to  set  foot  again 
inside  the  Bureau.  But  a  special  order  reached 
him.  The  chief  had  sent  for  him. 

"Always  the  same  men!"  Thus  Bridron  wel- 
comed him,  in  an  angry  voice. 

"What  have  I  done?" 

"You  don't  know  that  when  a  man  is  going 
away  he  must  present  himself  at  the  Bureau?" 

"Excuse  me,  I  do  know.  It's  already  happened 
once  to  me — to  go  away." 

"Don't  try  to  be  clever.  You  went  there,  no 
doubt,  just  the  same  as  the  others,  because  you 
couldn't  get  out  of  it.  Only  today,  they  tell  me, 
you  tried  to  take  your  hook." 


The  Terror  by  Night  23 

The  sergeant-major  tittered,  and  the  clerks 
followed  suit  in  chorus. 

"Let  him  be,  friend,"  the  quartermaster  inter- 
vened, "as  long  as  he's  ridding  us  of  him." 

"He  does  right.  I  promise  you  he  wouldn't 
have  shut  us  two  up!" 

Jean  kept  control  of  himself.  White  with 
humiliation,  he  took  the  two  and  a  half  francs 
due  to  him  and  signed  the  receipt  with  a  shaking 
hand.  Cazenave  had  been  present  at  the  scene 
and  they  went  out  together.  "The  dirty  devils! 
They'd  plague  you  to  death." 

Jean  said:  "I'll  get  even  with  them,  mind,  see 
if  I  don't."  He  was  thinking  of  the  Quotidien 
and  Chinard. 

"They've  got  you  all  the  same,  eh?  They're 
making  you  go " 

"Hum!  Perhaps  I  shan't  be  a  long  stayer  in 
their  Dunkerque ! ' ' 

When  they  regained  their  quarters  they  fell 
across  the  corporal,  who  questioned  Darboise: 
"Hey,  you!  Why  weren't  you  at  the  rationing? 
Now  it's  all  dealt  out!  I  don't  care  a  damn — 
you  can  do  without!" 

Jean  made  a  sign  of  disillusion.  Now  he  would 
have  to  fast  during  the  two  days'  journey! 

"I'll  dodge  that  for  you,  old  chap,"  said  Caze- 
nave, slyly;  "we'll  find  a  way." 

"Thanks,"  said  Jean,  gratefully. 

The  other  lowered  his  voice.  "Say,  if  you've 
got  a  friend,  too,  you  must  give  me  a  lift!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

CHERISHED  DETAILS 

KNAPSACKS  on  backs!  In  short-column  forma- 
tion they  are  marched  off  towards  the  station. 
Second-hand  soldiers,  of  whom  many  had  never 
even  been  classed,  their  swollen  pouches,  their 
badly  adjusted  straps,  and  their  hand-bags  gave 
them  a  sorry  and  awkward  bearing.  On  the  way 
they  met  a  long  file  of  "unfit,"  returning  from 
inspection;  most  of  them  had  been  wounded, 
but  at  least  they  were  war-proven.  A  shouting 
arose  and  followed  them — who  were  going  away 
without  weapons. 

Jean  almost  regretted  that  departure,  five 
months  before,  from  Carcassonne,  where  under 
the  December  sun  the  crowd  hailed  them  as 
men  who  would  soon  be  going  into  action. 


Sad  in  his  solitude,   Jean  felt  vaguely  sorry 
that  he  had  opposed,  mainly  for  pecuniary  reasons, 

his  wife's  wish  to  accompany  him  as  far  as  F . 

There  was  no  one  to  greet,  not  even  Papa  Mascard, 
who  was  content  to  send  him  by  Prestrot  the 

24 


Cherished  Details  25 

promised    card    addressed   to   the    captain    that 
would  command  the  detachment  down  yonder. 

They  went  forward  for  two  hours.  Then 
there  was  a  long  stop  at  a  junction  station.  Jean 
managed  to  get  out  of  the  station  and  take  a  turn 
in  the  country.  The  sky  was  cloudy,  and  the 
sun  setting  without  radiance.  When  he  returned 
the  corporal  caught  him:  "They've  been  looking 
for  you.  Who  gave  you  leave ? ' ' 

"The  sergeant." 

"The  sergeant?  He  told  me  you  hadn't  asked 
him." 

The  others  had  had  their  meal.  Jean  thought 
he  would  get  some  dinner  in  the  restaurant  he 
had  noticed  opposite  the  station.  When  he  went 
in,  the  manager  stopped  him  with  an  impolite 
gesture:  "No  admittance  to  privates;  I've  got  the 
officers'  mess." 

Cazenave  was  walking  with  Bousquet — he  who 
had  promised  him  a  share ! 

After  more  hours  of  travel,  they  arrived  by 
night  in  the  huge  dark  station  of  Rouen,  full  of 
the  hissing  of  engines  under  steam.  They  had 
to  find  the  exit,  show  their  travelling  papers,  and 
cross  the  dark  town,  with  which  Prestrot  by 
chance  was  familiar.  In  the  Northern  station 
complaisant  railwaymen  led  them  to  second-class 
compartments,  where  they  slept  until  early 
morning. 

And  the  whole  of  the  next  day  the  train  dragged 
itself  idly  along.  The  detachment  occupied  double 


26  A  Li  fe  at  Stake 

compartments  with  low  partitions  between.  The 
corporal,  Prestrot,  and  Cazenave  stuck  to  their 
cards.  For  fourth  player,  they  had,  turn  and 
turn  about,  Habert  and  the  sergeant,  who  gave 
up  playing  after  Longueau,  and  plunged  into  a 
popular  novel. 

Darboise  remained  quite  isolated.  Sometimes 
it  gratified  him,  and  he  wrapped  himself  volun- 
tarily in  a  rather  distant  seriousness.  Then 
sometimes  the  silence  weighed  on  him.  Mortas, 
seated  facing  him,  only  nodded  his  head  when, 
on  the  outskirts  of  Amiens,  Jean  remarked  to 
him:  "Ah,  we're  passing  not  far  from  the  front!" 

A  column  of  lorries,  half -seen  along  a  high  road, 
had  recalled  to  him  the  formidable  organisation 
of  Verdun. 

It  was  the  middle  of  April.  A  stubborn  rumour 
already  ran  that  it  was  from  this  side  the  great 
offensive  would  be  undertaken.  Ah,  that  spring- 
time, whose  coming  was  wont  to  rejoice  the  heart 
of  man,  but  this  time  would  mark  the  heaping 
anew  of  hecatombs!  Great  trees  swayed  their 
trembling  branches  along  the  side  of  the  track, 
and  Jean,  standing  at  the  door,  mourned  at  the 
sight  of  the  fields  dappled  with  daisies  and  prim- 
roses. "The  great  offensive" — God!  how  many 
meadows  did  it  mean  should  be  changed  into 
charnel-houses ! 

But  he  quickly  put  aside  these  unnerving 
thoughts — for  the  end  of  the  ordeal  was  near,  for 
victory  was  ripening!  These  countless  trains  of 


Cherished  Details  27 

munitions  and  stores,  chiefly  English,  that  they 
passed  in  rows  on  the  sidings,  gave  him  an  exalted 
idea  of  the  strength  of  France  and  of  that  of  her  allies, 
colossally  increased.  After  passing  Etaples,  where 
the  sea  began  to  appear,  already  foaming  and 
grey,  he  admired  the  series  of  English  and  Canadian 
camps,  a  swarming  of  white  tents  that  enlivened 
the  dunes.  With  a  sympathetic  eye  he  followed 
the  Tommies  in  their  exercises.  And  through  the 
window  of  a  tavern  did  he  not  surprise  the  kiss 
received  by  a  pretty  barmaid?  Ah,  the  fascina- 
tion of  that  race ! 

Farther  on,  some  Scottish  riflemen  climbed 
into  their  carriage,  big  fellows,  athletic  and  care- 
less, who  carried  themselves  proudly,  and  chatted 
noisily.  All  had  brisques*  on  their  sleeves.  Jean 
reddened.  What  would  they  think  of  his  com- 
panions and  himself?  Modestly  he  tried  to  make 
them  see  his  chevron. 

An  endless  journey!  At  each  stop,  Jean  felt 
a  haunting  remorse  that  he  had  written  nothing 
to  Andree.  Only  at  Boulogne  did  he  decide  to 
do  it.  Here  they  stayed  for  two  hours,  but  he 
confessed  to  only  ten  minutes — an  excuse  for 
merely  scribbling  a  few  words. 


Evening  was  falling  when  they  set  off  again. 

1  The  word  stands,  in  the  French  Army,  for  A  -shaped  badges 
worn  on  the  left  arm  to  indicate  the  duration  of  service  at  the 
front.— TR. 


28  A  Life  at  Stake 

They  had  eaten  a  snack,  and  Jean  was  living  on 
provisions  bought  at  the  buffet  at  Rouen. 

The  card-players  were  putting  their  cards  away 
and  composing  themselves  for  sleep.  Then  Bous- 
quet,  who  had  just  finished  his  reading,  came  and 
sat  by  Jean:  "How  goes  it?" 

"Not  so  badly,"  Darboise  smiled.  He  had 
borne  the  sergeant  a  little  ill-will  for  his  indiffer- 
ence, but  he  was  always  ready  to  meet  half-way 
any  one  who  made  him  any  advances. 

"If  only  we  can  be  late!"  murmured  the  other, 
" — so  that  we  can  miss  the  connection  at  Calais!" 

"Why?"  asked  Jean  in  surprise. 

"Because  otherwise  we  shall  reach  Dunkerque 
station  at  eleven,  and  we  shall  have  to  sleep  there." 

"Well?" 

"They  say  that  the  station — is  bombarded 
every  night." 

"A  risk  to  be  run!" 

"Thank  you  for  nothing!" 

Bousquet  confided  his  plan  to  him,  which  con- 
sisted of  going  to  earth  as  soon  as  they  reached 
Calais.  Jean  only  feebly  approved.  For  a 
minute  or  two  they  remained  face  to  face  without 
speaking.  Their  looks  wandered  over  the  fading 
country.  The  sergeant  broke  the  silence  at  last: 
"What  sort  of  life  are  we  going  to  lead  down 
yonder?" 

"You,  as  a  non-com. — supportable,  I  imagine." 

"Yes?  You  think  so?"  That  was  what  he 
had  wanted  to  be  told. 


Cherished  Details  29 

"Try  to  arrange  for  me  to  stay  with  you," 
Jean  suggested. 

"Right  you  are.  I've  already  promised  Caze- 
nave  to  claim  him  for  my  section." 

Night  had  now  fallen  in  earnest.  Outside  they 
could  no  longer  make  out,  beyond  the  regulated 
swaying  of  the  telegraph  wires,  anything  but 
ashen  expanses,  sown  with  distant  points  of  light. 
Their  comrades  slept  and  snored.  They  two  alone 
remained  awake  in  conversation.  Jean  reflected, 
and  not  ironically,  that  this  was  the  time  favour- 
able to  heart-openings. 

Bousquet  suddenly  said:  "Prestrot — did  you 
see  his  mother  at  the  station?" 

Darboise  had  indeed  noticed  her,  the  old  peasant 
with  a  black  cap.  Ah,  how  the  remark  touched 
him! 

"Have  you  still  your  mother,  sergeant?" 

"Yes.     Have  you?" 

"Dead — last  year.  Just  two  months  after  my 
brother.  She  had  watched  over  him  to  the  end, 
at  the  hospital." 

"Ah,  you  also  lost — how  old  was  he?" 

"Twenty." 

The  sergeant  sighed:  "For  my  share,  my  two 
brothers-in-law  have  been  killed." 

Once  approached,  these  subjects  stirred  in  them 
the  same  living  springs  of  human  pain  and  sorrow. 
In  the  darkness  Jean  could  no  longer  see  his 
interlocutor's  features,  but  he  thought  he  could 
feel  the  affectionate  look  turned  upon  him. 


30  A  Life  at  Stake 

"  Is  it  long — since  you  were  married  ? "  Bousquet 
asked  again. 

"Three  years." 

1  As  the  sergeant  did  not  reply,  it  was  Jean  who 
went  on:  "Ah,  when  the  war  came  and  surprised 
us!" 

' '  You  were — where  ? ' ' 

"At  Barbizon." 

Jean  was  conscious  of  the  tacit  invitation. 
Without  further  pressure  he  gave  the  cherished 
details  whose  intimate  sweetness  it  soothed  him 
to  recall. 

They  had  made  up  their  minds  to  go  again  in 
1914  and  pass  the  month  of  July  among  the  sur- 
roundings which  a  year  before  had  seen  their 
first  weeks  of  love.  What  delight  to  find  them- 
selves again  under  the  same  roof,  in  the  same 
room,  with  the  window  looking  out  on  to  oaks 
that  trembled  with  reincarnate  foliage,  and  among 
the  changing  moods  of  nature  to  foster — all  by 
themselves — an  illusion  of  eternity. 

How  far  from  the  world  they  lived  there !  They 
read  no  newspapers,  and  in  the  shade  of  high 
hedges  they  took  delightful,  erratic  walks.  Some- 
times they  wandered  after  dark,  steered  by  the 
stars,  and  sat  at  the  cross-roads  to  listen  to  the 
bellowing  of  stags.  By  day  sometimes  they 
would  hire  a  carriage.  In  a  subdued  voice  Jean 
recalled  that  afternoon  when  his  wife  insisted  on 
being  trusted  alone  to  drive  their  dear  little  English 
car  and  the  grey  pony.  They  were  surprised  on 


Cherished  Details  31 

the  road  by  a  storm.  Andree  bravely  stuck  to 
the  reins  and  was  content  to  find  shelter  under  the 
big  hood  of  her  husband.  He  could  still  feel  the 
touch  of  those  brown  locks  on  his  cheek.  Nor 
did  they  give  up  the  projected  detour  by  Arbonne. 
When  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  forest  the 
downpour  had  ceased,  and  the  blazing  sun  of 
summer  had  reappeared  from  behind  the  heavy 
clouds,  which  it  had  dissolved  into  transparent 
vapours,  quickly  drying  the  pools  in  the  road  and 
drawing  up  the  drops  that  glistened  on  the  leaves. 
The  view  over  the  He  de  France1  which  opened 
before  them  with  the  mellow  grace  of  a  widened 
horizon  as  they  came  out  of  the  forest  splendours 
had  nothing  to  hold  one's  attention.  Whence  came 
the  keen  delight  that  both  felt  pervade  them? 
Andree  stopped  the  pony.  They  stood  up  and 
drank  in  the  wide  prospect  of  undulating  golden 
meadows,  where  the  grey-blue  roofs  of  a  few 
houses  grouped  themselves  here  and  there  around 
a  pointed  steeple.  A  girl  in  a  straw  hat  was  guid- 
ing a  flock  of  sheep,  a  fair-haired  girl  who  saluted 
the  lovers  with  a  smile. 

Was  it  a  presentiment,  a  coincidence?  Not  a 
murmur  of  the  threatening  political  situation  had 
made  itself  heard  to  them.  Indeed,  that  after- 
noon the  world  seemed  almost  too  pure  to  them, 
nature  too  harmonious,  the  life  before  them  too 
bright — as  if  it  were  the  eve  of  some  convulsion. 

1  To  the  north-east  of  Paris;  roughly,  between  Amiens  and 
Rheims.  The  "forest"  is  that  of  Compiegne. — TK. 


32  A  Life  at  Stake 

They  had  both  looked  at  each  other  and  mur- 
mured, without  knowing  why,  "July  thirtieth, 
1914."  And  they  went  back  almost  in  silence, 
not  so  much  in  satisfaction  at  having  found  some- 
thing like  complete  earthly  happiness,  as  troubled 
by  a  sadness  which  sounded  almost  in  sobs. 
"Don't  you  think  it  was  curious?" 

"Very,"  Bousquet  agreed. 

Jean  was  silent  for  a  while.  Yes,  a  singular 
intuition.  How  often,  since  that  day,  Andree 
and  he  had  recalled  it.  In  a  sort  of  doubt,  they 
had  told  no  one  of  it,  not  even  Augueres,  who 
came  next  day  to  lunch  and  to  tell  them — what 
a  thunderbolt  it  was! — of  the  inevitable  disaster; 
not  even  Augueres,  whom  they  had  not  seen 
again. 

Jean  felt  surprised  that  he  had  told  Bousquet 
all  these  confidences,  but  he  did  not  go  so  far  as 
to  regret  it.  To  be  sent  away  together  is  a  unit- 
ing thing,  and  perhaps  this  was  tomorrow's  true 
friend — this  man  who  twice  already  had  guided 
their  talk  into  those  paths  where  men  who  are 
neither  friends  nor  enemies  fear  to  tread.  Dar- 
boise  took  one  step  more:  "My  wife,"  he 
said,  with  touching  bashfulness,  "I  was  telling 
you  about  my  wife.  Shall  I  show  you — her 
portrait?" 

The  other's  silence  giving  assent  in  the  dark- 
ness, Jean  unbuttoned  his  overcoat,  rummaged 
about,  and  produced  a  photograph  from  his  pocket- 
book.  "Here!" 


Cherished  Details  33 

The  other  did  not  put  out  his  hand:  "Here, 
sergeant,"  Jean  insisted. 

Just  then  a  jerk  of  the  train  made  the  oil-lamp 
send  a  gleam  into  their  gloomy  corner;  and  by 
its  fleeting  ray  he  saw  that  Bousquet  was  asleep. 

Then  Jean  smiled  at  himself,  bitterly.  He 
looked  at  his  slumbering  companions — weary 
human  cattle.  But  his  looks  fell  back  upon  the 
poor  photograph  in  his  hand,  and  something 
passed  into  him  from  the  being  for  whom  life  was 
worth  living!  Suddenly  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips, 
like  a  schoolboy. 


Bousquet's  hopes  of  Calais  went  pitifully  astray. 
For  as  the  detachment  under  his  guidance  filed 
towards  the  sidings,  a  belaced  watcher  questioned 
them  in  a  supercilious  way,  and  upon  their  em- 
barrassed reply  shook  his  head  decisively — "  No 
one  must  sleep  here." 

Corporal  Thuillier  counselled  asking  permission 
from  the  military  commissary,  but  seeing  from 
afar  that  high  personage  repelling  a  man  on  leave, 
took  away  from  them  all  desire  to  approach  him. 

The  Dunkerque  train  was  there,  ready  to  start. 
It  was  a  long  one,  made  up  entirely  of  old  third- 
class  coaches,  and  a  peculiar  feature  of  it  was  that 
three-quarters  of  the  windows  were  missing. 

"Is   that— bombs?" 

"Probably." 

There   being  no   civilian   travellers,   they  got 


34  A  Life  at  Stake 

settled  without  difficulty.  Each  man  commanded 
a  side.  Lying  full  length,  Darboise  fell  asleep  in 
suddenness  and  resignation  as  the  train  started. 

The  grating  of  his  door  as  it  was  opened  woke 
him  up,  and  a  rough  voice  said :  "All  change  here! " 

In  complete  darkness  he  rebuckled  his  waist- 
belt,  groped  for  his  pouches  and  hand-bag,  and 
cautiously  got  out:  "Dunkerque?" 

No  one  answered  and  the  darkness  was  opaque. 
But  after  a  few  steps  he  heard  oaths,  and  the 
jostling  of  his  pals.  They  were  there. 

Which  was  the  way  to  go?  A  pale  gleam  at- 
tracted him — a  dark  lantern  was  trailing  it  along 
the  platform.  He  butted  into  the  railwayman 
who  was  carrying  it:  "You've  got  it  dark  here.  " 

"Not  dark  enough." 

"Where's  the  way  out?" 

"Come  with  me." 

He  followed  the  man.  The  darkness  was  only 
perforated  in  the  distance  by  many-coloured  points 
of  fire.  With  parched  tongue  and  cramped  limbs, 
Jean  tried  to  joke  with  his  guide:  "  Is  it  on  account 
of  the  Taubes,"  he  asked,  "these  precautions?" 

"Of  course!" 

His  foot  slipped  and  he  nearly  fell  into  an  ex- 
cavation. ' '  What '  s  that  ?  That  hole  ? ' ' 

"A  bomb  hole." 

"When  was  it  done?" 

"Last  night." 

"Were  there  any  killed?" 


Cherished  Details  35 

His  companion  did  not  reply,  and  his  silence 
was  even  more  significant.  Jean  did  not  leave 
him  by  an  inch. 

They  went  along  by  indistinct  masses — the 
tender,  the  engine,  which  blew  noisy  steam  around 
their  legs.  In  spite  of  himself,  Jean  had  to  acknow- 
ledge that  this  arrival  had  something  oppressive 
and  sinister  about  it.  "Every  night,"  the  ser- 
geant had  said,  and  he  ought  to  be  well  informed. 
This  station,  no  doubt,  was  a  rallying-point  for 
the  enemy  squadrons,  the  sowers  of  explosion 
and  death.  Darboise  shivered  in  his  skin. 

Since  his  wound,  had  he  not  set  himself  to 
construct  plans  for  the  future,  as  if  he  had  "done 
his  bit"?  "After  the  war,"  he  had  thought,  he 
would  try  this,  he  would  do  that.  Ah,  the  cruel 
consciousness  came  to  him  that  he  had  not  yet 
finished  with  it.  His  death  returned  to  possibility. 
His  lot  was  once  more  in  the  hands  of  the  brutal 
Goddess  of  War!  Was  he  not  indeed  one  of  the 
condemned  generations? 

He  had  rejoined  his  comrades.  The  sergeant 
had  just  delivered  the  transport  order.  They 
were  guided  towards  the  hangar  where  they  were 
to  pass  the  night.  There  was  no  cellar,  nor  floor 
above  them;  no  shelter  in  case  of  bombardment. 
Jean  followed  the  others,  stumbling  over  the  turn- 
tables and  switches.  This  time,  far  from  chaffing 
the  timid  ones,  he  turned  upon  them  and  upon 
himself — youth  that  had  had  the  ill-luck  to  grow 
up  in  this  age  of  the  world — his  heartrending  pity. 


BOOK  II 

CHAPTER  I 

ARRIVAL  AT  ST.   POL 

THE  little  company  had  just  halted  at  the  door 
of  their  quarters — a  big  school,  brick-built. 

"Hullo!  No  one  was  expecting  you!"  a 
whiskered  sentry  cried. 

No  warning  of  their  arrival !  It  was  an  unlucky 
coming,  for  there  had  been  an  alarm  in  the  night. 

"How — an  alarm?" 

"The  chaps  spent  the  night  armed  and  equipped 
in  the  yard." 

"Even  the  auxiliaries?"  Cazenave  asked. 

"You  bet!" 

"So  now  they'll  be  having  a  snooze?" 

"Snooze  be  damned!  They  mustered  the 
fatigues  at  twenty  past  five,  just  as  usual." 

"Hum!  That  doesn't  sound  very  good,  eh, 
Darboise?" 

Jean  shook  his  head  without  replying,  for  his 
impressions  continued  to  be  painful.  Oh,  that 
first  view  of  the  country  from  the  road  by  which 
they  left  the  station !  First,  there  were  the  cold, 
deserted  quays,  bordering  the  leaden  water  of  the 

36 


Arrival  at  St.  Pol  37 

canal;  then  greyish  houses,  some  of  them  aban- 
doned, several  in  yawning  ruins,  the  result  of 
bombardments.  After  passing  the  Mardyck  Gate, 
there  was  an  expanse  of  beggarly  dunes,  which  a 
thin  screen  of  pines  did  not  succeed  in  beautify- 
ing; and  so  to  St.  Pol  at  last,  where  they  were  to 
live — a  low  quarter,  with  its  squat  houses  damp- 
corroded,  slatternly  women  at  the  doors,  and  chil- 
dren in  dirty  rags.  It  rained,  too.  A  heavy 
downpour,  slanted  by  a  cutting  wind,  had  lashed 
their  faces.  A  disagreeable  climate,  and  Jean  felt 
that  for  him  it  would  be  a  source  of  incurable 
vexation.  He  the  amorous  Provencal,  an  exile 
from  shining  skies  and  a  sun  which  burns  the  face 
and  warms  the  heart  as  it  mellows  and  gilds  the 
buildings,  an  exile  in  the  land  of  the  north  wind, 
was  overwhelmed  with  despair  as  was  Ovid  on 
Massilian  shores. 

The  morning  passed  away  for  them  in  dismal 
waiting.  Jean,  accompanied  by  Cazenave,  took 
a  turn  round  their  quarters.  Under  a  lean-to  shed 
in  the  yard  they  saw  the  cooks,  bare-armed  and 
dirty-aproned,  moving  round  the  stoves.  They 
crossed  the  unappropriated  class-rooms,  where 
soiled  straw  mattresses  were  aligned  on  broken 
insulators.  In  the  middle  of  each  room  were  two 
long  tables,  one  on  the  top  of  the  other,  with  its 
legs  in  the  air.  On  the  shelves  that  ran  along 
the  walls,  crusts  of  bread  were  lying  about  and 
all  sorts  of  oddments.  There  was  a  look  of  sham 
cleanliness,  of  regulated  misery. 


38  A  Life  at  Stake 

Cazenave  said:  "We  shall  have  to  bluff  a  room 
in  the  town!" 

At  ten  o'clock  the  sergeant-major  appeared. 
He  was  a  big  man  with  a  fine  beard,  whom  the 
incidents  of  the  night  had  put  in  a  bad  temper. 
He  led  the  new  arrivals  to  the  Bureau,  where  a 
secretary — he  was  a  schoolmaster  called  Perce- 
vain,  slow  and  ceremonious — gave  them  various 
instructions:  "Above  all,  never  be  without  your 
identity  disk,"  he  advised  each  man. 

"Why  is  that?"  Bousquet  asked. 

"So  that  they  may  know  who  you  are  in  case 
of — accidents." 

"Ah,  yes!  The  Taubes  come  here  pretty 
often." 

The  chief  put  in  a  brief  allusion  to  the  bom- 
bardment of  two  days  previously — eight  poor 
devils  on  furlough  in  a  railway  carriage,  blown  to 
bits. 

"Is  it  always  the  station  that's  aimed  at?" 

"St.  Pol,  too,  for  some  time  now." 

' '  What  does  one  do,  when  they — begin  to  topple 
down?" 

"You  wait  till  they've  finished  toppling!" 

The  captain  was  not  there — they  doubted  if 
he  would  come  that  morning.  Quartermaster 
Saupiquet  came  in,  with  his  report-book  under 
his  arm.  He  came  from  headquarters. 

"Anything  new?" 

"Nothing — ah,  yes! — Soldiers  who  go  to  the 
harbour  must  now  wear  their  shrapnel  helmets." 


Arrival  at  St.  Pol  39 

"They  don't  know  what  to  make  up!"  said  the 
chief,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

They  chatted  about  the  alarm  in  the  night. 
Was  it  simply  a  practice  alarm?  Hum!  Saupi- 
quet  intimated  that  suspicious  movements  of  war- 
vessels  had  been  observed  at  sea  off  Zeebrugge. 

"Likely!  We  shouldn't  have  been  able  to 
dodge  the  saunter  to  the  West  Defence!" 

"The  West  Defence?"  queried  Bousquet. 

"That's  where  we've  got  to  go  and  get  shot  if 
anything  big  turns  up." 

"I  don't  understand,"  the  sergeant  went  on. 
"Seeing  that  we're  auxiliaries ' 

"They'll  take  no  notice  of  that.  The  Govern- 
or's worse  than  a  pope." 

"Let  him  look  out!"  said  Cazenave,  laughing, 
"with  our  friend  Darboise  here  who's  got  friends 
on  the  newspapers!" 

"You?"  The  chief  stared  at  Jean.  "Do  you 
happen  to  be  a  journalist?" 

"Not  exactly.  I'm — a  painter.  But  I've  had 
some  drawings  in  the  papers." 

There  was  a  chilly  silence.  Saupiquet  was 
going  to  speak  but  kept  quiet.  Jean  enjoyed 
the  effect  he  had  produced. 

They  returned,  and  Cazenave  sounded  him. 
''The  game  to  play,  eh,  will  be  to  get  a  job  in 
the  Bureau?" 

"Yes.     But  those  that  are  there ?" 

' '  They're  not  so  safe !  I've  been  learning  things. 
All  three  of  them  belong  to  the  armed  service!" 


40  A  Life  at  Stake 

Now  Jean  understood  their  disapproving  looks 
— shirkers  who  must  have  fumed  even  when  they 
only  turned  over  his  squad-book! 

Dinner-time  was  approaching,  yet  the  place 
remained  empty.  Jean  was  surprised :  ' '  Are  there 
no  more  than  this  for  dinner?" 

A  cook  replied:  "The  fatigue  chaps  chew  at 
the  Textile  Hangar." 

"They  used  to  come  back  here  one  time,"  said 
another. 

"Then  they  discovered  that  place  so  that  the 
chaps  can  jaw  for  another  hour." 

They  took  their  places  at  the  greasy  table. 
Cazenave  was  fastidious.  He  had  been  mobilised 
eighteen  months  but  he  had  never  had  to  eat  at 
the  general  mess.  Jean  was  more  resigned — after 
what  he  had  suffered  and  seen  in  the  course  of 
his  two  brief  campaigns.  The  other's  lamenta- 
tions even  irritated  him  into  angry  protest.  The 
sergeant's  attention  was  attracted — Depussay,  the 
shuffling  walker — and  he  came  towards  them: 
"Your  table  not  clean?" 

"Disgusting!"  exclaimed  Cazenave. 

"Very  well!  After  inspection,  as  you'll  have 
nothing  to  do,  I'll  give  you  some  soap  and  brushes. 
There  are  fifteen  of  you  and  there  are  eight  tables." 
He  rubbed  his  hands  in  satisfaction:  "That's  a 
very  good  idea." 

The  inspection !  Cazenave,  gathering  tips  about 
the  little  major,  received  different  opinions.  Not 


Arrival  at  St.  Pol  41 

a  bad  sort,  some  assured  him.  A  chap  that  knew 
his  job,  but  quite  harsh  enough.  That  was  neces- 
sary! Otherwise  there  would  always  be  fellows 
who  wouldn't  care  a  rap  for  him.  Nivard,  the  or- 
derly, was  more  severe.  "Corentin?  A  rotten  lazy- 
bones, who  takes  care  to  keep  in  with  his  betters! " 

They  reached  the  infirmary  under  the  guidance 
of  Flatus  the  sick-sergeant,  a  lean  man  with  a 
scarred  face.  "Another  of  the  armed  service!" 
whispered  Nivard;  "but  you  bet  they'll  not 
comb  him  out!" 

A  simple  make-believe,  that  inspection !  Bous- 
quet,  who  first  presented  himself,  and  who  pulled 
from  his  pocket  a  whole  bundle  of  certificates, 
was  repelled  by  the  major  with  a  gesture:  "Pooh! 
You'll  have  little  enough  to  do  here,  you  a  non- 
com.  !  Fit, ' '  he  proclaimed.  ' '  Next ! ' ' 

The  next  was  Cazenave.  "Auxiliary?  What's 
your  case?" 

"It's  for — for  my  heart,  major " 

"To  be  used  carefully!"  said  Corentin,  after  a 
rapid  sounding. 

Jean  followed  behind  Cazenave,  with  his  sleeve 
turned  back.  Having  certified  ankylosis  and  the 
presence  of  the  callus  which  caused  the  shorten- 
ing, Corentin  murmured:  "What  folly  to  send 
us  men  like  that!" 

Jean  smiled  at  the  severe  reflection  on  Bineff: 
"What  do  they  worry  about  it,  major!  Any  one 
for  any  sort  of  job " 

He  looked  for  the  smile  of  understanding  on 


42  A  Life  at  Stake 

the  other's  face,  but  Corentin  snubbed  him: 
' '  No  one  asked  your  opinion ! " 

The  infirmary  corporal  laughed  openly.  Jean 
bit  his  lips — yet  another  imbecile,  swanking  be- 
cause he  had  a  gold  stripe!  At  once  he  gave  up 
the  idea  of  mentioning  the  double  pleurisy  which 
had  put  him  last  year  into  "temporary  suspen- 
sion." He  was  sent  away.  "Fit,  fit."  And 
fit  all  the  others  were  pronounced  after  him, 
even  Habert  the  lame-backed  man.  The  major 
handled  his  hips  and  spine,  and  coldly  denied 
the  existence  of  anything  amiss. 

The  thankless  cleaning  fatigue  kept  the  squad 
occupied  through  the  afternoon.  Towards  three 
o'clock,  Lieutenant  Fauvel  came  to  see  them. 
He  was  a  long  and  merry  fellow  who  seemed  all 
legs  and  had  the  face  of  a  comedian.  Occupied 
in  the  embroidery  trade  in  civil  life,  he  had  per- 
formed brilliantly  in  the  first  months  of  the  war. 
After  a  fragment  of  shell  in  his  back,  he  was  be- 
medalled,  and  he  had  found  shelter  ever  since  at 
Dunkerque,  where  he  had  recovered,  and  he  hoped 
he  would  never  have  to  leave  it. 

He  had  the  men  introduced  to  him.  Jolly, 
bantering,  and  friendly,  he  questioned  them  one 
by  one  on  their  callings  and  the  details  of  their 
military  incarnation.  Coming  to  Jean,  at  the 
word  "painter"  he  pricked  his  ears.  "Been 
through  the  Beaux- Arts,  too?  Well,  well!  We 
were  short  of  a  painter  here,  a  real  painter!  And 
you've  been  to  the  front,  eh?  Wounded?" 


Arrival  at  St.  Pol  43 

"At  Douaumont,  lieutenant." 

"Douaumont?  Ah,  I  know  it!"  said  Fauvel. 
He  put  on  a  judicial  look.  Yes,  yes;  all  those 
villages  of  the  Meuse  got  among  the  big  head- 
lines. He,  too,  had  fought  there,  at  the  begin- 
ning. Not  enough  had  been  said  about  the  fights 
of  that  time,  though  quite  as  terrible  as  those  of 
today,  and  even  more  so  perhaps,  for  in  those 
days  one  did  not  know  how  to  protect  himself. 

Rather  impatiently  Jean  had  to  put  on  an 
appearance  of  agreement;  and  Fauvel  kept  him 
back  when  he  dismissed  the  others.  A  painter ! 
He  was  fond  of  such  things  himself,  so  they  would 
understand  each  other.  He  had  made  drawings, 
mind  you,  since  he  was  a  kid.  And  more, — a 
member  of  the  Academy,  he  couldn't  remember 
his  name,  to  whom  some  friends  of  his  family 
had  shown  some  of  his  drawings  had  voluntarily 
offered  to  give  him  lessons;  "and  then  you  know 
the  rest — of  course  they  stuck  me  into  business." 
He  tapped  Jean's  shoulder:  "But  I  always  fol- 
low the  movement  from  a  distance;  I've  got 
artistic  taste,  mind.  You  must  show  me  your 
work." 

Jean  promised,  and  keeping  his  object  in  sight, 
sounded  his  interlocutor  on  the  possibility  of  a 
secretarial  job.  The  lieutenant  went  off  at  a 
tangent:  "Ah,  the  captain  does  as  he  likes;  he 
has  his  own  ideas  and  plots.  But  one  might 
arrange  for  you  to  be  put  on  easy  fatigues.  I'll 
speak  about  it  to  the  adjutant." 


44  A  Life  at  Stake 

Jean  found  Cazenave  again,  arm  in  arm  with 
this  same  adjutant. 

"Monsieur  Monade,  let  me  introduce  you  to 
Darboise,  one  of  my  good  pals  who  has  just 
arrived  with  me." 

Jean  saluted,  and  the  little  Bordelais  explained 
to  him:  "It's  very  funny!  The  adjutant  and  I 
are  both  friends  of  Robinson's." 

"Do  you  come  from  down  yonder,  adjutant?" 

"That's  my  restaurant,  next  to  Lonely  Tree 
Corner." 

"Municipal  councillor  of  Sceaux,"  Cazenave 
went  on. 

Certainly  Jean  had  no  special  regard  for  officers 
of  that  grade;  but  this  one  was  not  offensive, 
with  his  well-set  fencer's  figure,  his  fine  moustache 
and  expressive  eyes.  He  breathed  sincerity  and 
good-nature;  and  pulling  out  his  note-book,  he 
said:  "I  am  the  chief  marshal  of  fatigues.  We 
must  see  if  we  can  fix  you  with  a  job  not  too 
hard." 

"Yes,  the  lieutenant  gave  me  reason  to  hope, 
said  Jean,  rather  thoughtlessly,  and  the  other 
cut  him  short:  'The  lieutenant!  Hum!  Well 
then,  you're  finding  out  for  yourself  all  about 
things—" 

"There's  my  arm,  too." 

"What  does  your  arm  matter?  You  must 
know  that  all  here  are  more  or  less  cripples.  As 
long  as  the  major  has  classed  you  fit, — I  don't 
say  that  to  frighten  you " 


Arrival  at  St.  Pol  45 

"You  couldn't,"  Cazenave  insinuated,  "shove 
him  into  the  coffee  fatigue  as  well?" 

"Ah,  that's — "  the  adjutant  seemed  to  hesitate, 
allowing  time  for  due  appreciation  of  the  favour. 
Then  he  said:  "Very  well — the  coffee,  let  it  be 
so.  The  old  hands  will  grouse.  So  much  the 
worse  for  them!" 

"We  shall  be  together,"  said  Cazenave,  sincerely 
pleased. 

Jean  gave  thanks.  As  soon  as  they  were  alone 
the  Bordelais  said:  "A  good  sort!  I  shall  do 
what  I  like  with  him.  Are  you  trying  to  work 
a  room  in  town?" 

"I'm  going  to  look  for  one." 

"Don't  wait  too  long.  I've  already  got 
mine." 

"Doesn't  one  need  a  permit?" 

"They're  not  given  officially;  but  if  Monade 
shuts  his  eyes — "  Cazenave  went  on:  "There's 
one  in  the  house  where  I'm  going  to  stay,  very 
clean ;  it'd  suit  you." 

The  rain  was  stopping,  and  a  clear  sky  was 
emerging  from  the  clouds.  Jean  went  out,  free 
for  the  time.  A  hundred  yards  away  the  dunes 
began,  a  vast  sandy  country,  humped  with  irregu- 
lar hillocks,  on  whose  sides  were  patches  of  thin 
grass.  A  touch  of  uncleanness  was  added  by  great 
heaps  of  rubbish.  Traffic  had  traced  several 
paths,  all  converging  from  the  town  towards  a 
squat  bastion  down  there,  behind  which  a  forest 
of  masts,  the  shapes  of  funnels  and  cranes,  and 


46  A  Life  at  Stake 

often  the  groaning  of  sirens,  indicated  the  port, 
the  vigorous  heart  of  the  district's  activity. 

Jean  followed  one  of  the  tracks,  inquisitively, 
inhaling  the  briny  air.  He  was  so  made  that  a 
ray  of  sunshine  was  enough  to  lighten  his  worst 
anxieties.  And  now  the  brilliant  orb  was  sinking 
above  the  chestnuts  of  the  plain.  His  first  day 
was  ending  in  a  less  irritating  outlook.  Having 
climbed  on  to  a  bank,  he  drew  his  fountain-pen 
from  his  pocket  and  wrote  two  affectionate  letter- 
cards  to  Andree. 

Six  o'clock  had  just  struck  from  the  church  of 
St.  Pol.  Jean  noticed  a  procession  of  workers  in 
fatigue  smocks  debouching  from  the  foot-bridge 
and  steering  for  the  town.  They  were  his  com- 
rades of  the  morrow,  and  they  filed  by  at  his  feet. 

There  were  a  hundred  of  them,  dragging  their 
feet  in  the  sand,  and  raising  yellow  dust.  In 
broken  ranks,  by  twos,  by  threes,  by  sixes,  with 
some  stragglers  far  behind,  their  column  was 
lamentably  stretched  and  lengthened.  What  first 
of  all  struck  one  was  their  shabby  appearance. 
All  wore  ragged  calico  overalls,  and  greasy  pouches 
on  their  shoulders.  All  were  wan  and  dirty,  with 
week-old  beards,  and  many  faces  and  hands  were 
blackened  with  coal-dust.  Most  striking  was  their 
appearance  of  casual  labourers,  worn  out  and 
dejected.  They  were  not  young  for  the  most 
part ;  their  faces  were  lined  and  their  gait  heavy. 
They  were  hurrying,  as  horses  hurry  towards  the 
stable  even  when  they  are  tired  out ;  silently  they 


Arrival  at  St.  Pol  47 

passed — on  some  faces  there  was  an  expression  of 
stupidity,  on  some,  passive  resignation,  on  others, 
fierce  malice. 

A  corporal,  with  thin  neck  and  hollow  cheeks, 
was  in  charge.  He  bestirred  himself  to  cry: 
"Hey,  front  ranks!  Not  so  fast!"  But  these, 
prodding  one  another  with  their  elbows,  went  all 
the  quicker.  So  he  turned  to  the  rear:  "Hey, 
there!  Hurry  up!"  But  these  were  the  lame 
and  the  grumblers,  and  they  only  told  him  to 
go  and  chase  himself. 

Mechanically  Jean  got  up  and  followed  them. 
At  the  entry  to  the  village  the  corporal  tried  to 
stop  them  and  form  them  in  fours.  But  the 
leaders  set  off  again  before  the  last  had  caught  up. 
However,  he  had  to  do  his  part,  and  he  used  him- 
self up  in  calling  the  step — "One,  two,  one  two!" 
They  ridiculed  him,  with  antics  and  hustling  at 
the  corners.  They  arrived  in  front  of  their  quar- 
ters, and  while  the  column  scattered  giggling,  he 
shouted  his  "Section,  halt!" 

At  that  moment  exactly,  Jean  saw  a  grotesque 
apparition  arise  in  the  doorway  of  the  school.  It 
was  a  spectacled  old  man,  whose  khaki  uniform, 
the  cane  that  he  twirled  with  an  important  air, 
his  high  boots,  and  the  slung  map  and  revolver, 
vaguely  recalled  Tartarin.  It  was  the  captain! 

"By  God!"  he  cried;  "Cachin,  is  that  how  you 
bring  yOur  men  back?" 

The  corporal,  standing  at  attention,  tried  to 
excuse  himself:  "Captain " 


48  A  Life  at  Stake 

"Be  silent.  You  will  have  four  days  C.  B. 
And  I  shall  keep  my  eye  on  you,  my  fine  fellow." 

Jean  concluded  that  the  moment  was  not  suit- 
able for  presenting  his  note  of  introduction.  He 
slipped  into  the  crowd  and  went  back  into  the 
building  where  the  new  arrivals  were  in  an  up- 
roar. "  Take  your  seats !"  Already  they  were 
bringing  in  steaming  broth.  He  took  his  place 
beside  a  huge  fellow  with  dirty  hands. 

"You're  new?"  said  his  neighbour. 

"Yes." 

"Ah,  you've  a  lot  to  sputter  about  yet,  then!" 
The  man  went  on:  "Did  you  see  the  corporal? 
His  job's  got  it  for  him  in  the  neck!  Pity,  for 
he's  a  good  lad!" 

Bravely  Jean  declared:  "In  that  case  it  wasn't 
very  spicy  of  you  to  get  him  punished." 

The  other  made  a  ferocious  grimace:  "Be 
damned  for  that,  understand.  We  get  even  with 
the  first  that  comes  handy!" 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  LEAST  UGLY  JOB 

JEAN  regretted  he  had  delayed  in  securing  a 
"home."  The  fragrance  of  the  name  alone 
thrilled  him,  for  as  a  fighting  soldier  he  did  not 
know  the  barrack-room.  And  what  solitude  in 
these  surroundings!  Until  nine  o'clock  there  was 
the  racket  of  the  card-players  grouped  round  the 
candles,  as  they  violently  planted  their  cards — 
rotten  at  the  corners — on  the  tables.  Some  of 
the  pals  were  watching  the  games.  Everybody 
smoked  and  spat.  Only  obscene  jokes  and  in- 
decency excited  the  laughter  of  the  jaded  herd. 
Timidly  Darboise  suggested  having  a  window 
half-open,  drawing  suspicious  looks  on  himself. 
At  ten  o'clock,  two  men  came  in  drunk.  Until 
the  middle  of  the  night  the  stench  of  that  den  kept 
Jean  awake  and  sickened. 

What  an  arising  in  the  pallid  dawn!  What 
vexation  to  put  one's  bare  feet  on  the  cold  tiles 
straight  from  his  crumpled  "meat-sack"  of  dubi- 
ous cleanliness!  "What  they  have  brought  me 
to!"  he  thought,  and  envied  the  soft -jobbers  who 
laze  between  clean  sheets. 

4  49 


50  A  Life  at  Stake 

He  went  out  to  wash  in  the  yard  where  the 
"juice"1  was  being  distributed.  His  drinking- 
cup  was  leaking,  but  he  accepted  a  comrade's 
offer  to  share  his — shivering  when  the  man's 
smile  revealed  a  toothless  mouth. 

It  was  at  the  entry  to  the  Port,  by  the  gate  of 
the  hospital,  that  Vigouroux,  a  first-class  soldier, 
mustered  the  men  of  the  coffee  fatigue  at  ten  to 
six — the  sergeant  did  not  get  up  so  early.  There 
Jean  met  Cazenave  again.  They  had  hardly 
crossed  the  railway  line  when,  "Keep  time!" 
cried  Vigouroux,  "we're  watched  here!" 

"By  whom? "  asked  Cazenave  in  a  low  voice. 

The  other  bade  him  be  silent,  but  a  little  farther 
on  he  explained:  "At  the  beginning,  each  man 
went  on  his  own  to  the  job.  We  could  work  that 

it  was  a  bit  of  all  right !  Then  someone  gave 

the  show  away.  Three  months  ago  the  lieutenant- 
general  decided  that  we  must  march  together 
through  the  Port.  He's  put  officers  on  to  watch 
nothing  but  that — the  brutes!  In  the  evening 
especially  you've  got  to  keep  an  eye  open.  Last 
week  a  corporal  of  ours  was  reduced  to  the  ranks." 

"How  daft!"  said  Cazenave,  boldly. 

' '  Like  all  army  doings ! " 

Passing  over  piers  and  platforms,  they  left  on 
their  right  the  great  docks  that  the  high  tide  had 
just  reached.  Fine  vessels  were  slumbering  along 
the  quaysides.  A  little  way  off  they  perceived 
an  enormous  grey  building,  squat  and  dreary, 

1  Coffee.— TR. 


.  The  Least  Ugly  Job  51 

whose  roof  was  grimy  glass.  Its  front  bore  an  in- 
scription in  huge  letters — "  Dunkerque  Chamber 
of  Commerce:  Textile  Hangar." 

The  Textile!  Jean  opened  his  eyes.  This  was 
the  Textile,  of  which  his  ears  had  been  weary  for 
twenty-four  hours.  This  was  where  he  must 
live  henceforth,  and  he  could  not  believe  it. 

A  wide  space  where  thousands  of  barrels  were 
arranged  in  lines  side  by  side  separated  them  still 
from  the  building.  This  was  the  place  of  the  wine 
fatigue.  They  went  forward.  In  front  of  the 
monumental  entry,  some  men  of  a  section  were 
revolving  with  bent  backs  a  waggon  they  had 
brought  on  to  a  turn-table.  Another  team  was 
unloading  hay  in  a  dust -laden  atmosphere.  A 
long  file  of  trucks  was  slowly  burying  itself  in  the 
gloom  of  the  interior. 

The  step  was  hard  to  keep  on  the  slippery  and 
uneven  pavement,  and  Cazenave  stumbled  on  a 
rail.  "Keep  time!"  cried  Vigouroux  to  him  with 
inflexible  face. 

They  halted  near  the  middle  of  the  Textile, 
in  front  of  the  "Office  of  Staff,"  a  frail  building 
of  deal.  The  old  hands  took  their  working  places, 
while  Vigouroux  introduced  the  two  newcomers 
to  the  "roasting"  adjutant,  Galandrin,  who 
grumbled:  "Two  more?  I  didn't  ask  for  any!" 

A  score  of  cast-iron  globes  with  glowing  fires 
underneath  divided  the  great  transverse  bay  into 
fifteen-yard  lengths,  and  filled  it  with  a  pungent 
smell. 


52  A  Life  at  Stake 

"You  get  hold  of  that  crank  and  you  turn!" 
said  Vigouroux. 

"In  that  smoke?"  cried  Jean,  "why  it's  enough 
to  choke  one!" 

"There  you  are,  soldier!"  cried  the  man  who 
was  revolving  the  globe.  "I  pass  the  job  on  to 
you!  Your  dadda  was  waiting  for  you,  so  that 
he  could  idle  a  bit ! " 

Darboise  was  only  half  pleased  with  the  tone: 
"Turn  and  turn  about!  We  shall  relieve  each 
other?" 

"For  sure!  There's  a  nice  sort,  to  believe  they 
want  to  pile  him  up!" 

"Every  half -hour?" 

"If  necessary!" 

Jean  sat  down  to  the  crank  without  further 
remark.  At  once  he  found  that  the  work  was 
harder  than  he  would  have  believed.  The 
mechanism  was  not  oiled,  and  squeaked.  And  he 
had  only  one  arm !  At  the  end  of  twenty  minutes, 
tired  out,  he  would  have  liked  to  turn  it  over,  but 
his  partner  Liebal,  who  had  cleared  off,  turned 
up  only  after  another  long  quarter  of  an  hour. 

"You're  late!" 

"Shut  your  jaw!  You've  not  stuck  at  it  so 
long!" 

Jean  was  getting  nervy,  but  he  controlled  him- 
self. In  the  course  of  the  forenoon  Liebal  played 
the  trick  on  him  twice  more.  But  not  three  times, 
for  when  his  next  half -hour  was  finished,  Jean 
deliberately  ceased  work.  He  had  stopped  only 


The  Least  Ugly  Job  53 

thirty  seconds  when  Sergeant  Depussay,  who 
had  come  on  duty,  tapped  his  shoulders  and  said : 
"Do  you  think  you're  paid  to  do  nothing?" 

"I'm  tired."  " 

' '  Tired !    As  if  it  was  a  hard  job ! ' ' 

"Besides,  it's  my  pal's  turn.  I've  had  enough 
of  carrying  on  for  him.  He  leaves  me  in  the 
soup  every  time!" 

"Tell  him  about  it  at  once,"  said  the  sergeant. 
' '  But,  as  for  that,  I'm  not  so  sure  about  it.  There's 
always  squabbling ! " 

Just  then  Liebal  reappeared:  "Ah,  you're  tell- 
ing tales,  are  you?"  and  taking  his  place  on  the 
stool  he  hustled  Darboise.  Jean  fired  up :  "  You're 
asking  for  a  slap  in  the  face! " 

"Are  you  giving  it,  brat?"  The  man  stood  up 
with  a  movement  of  anger  and  the  sergeant 
intervened:  "Do  you  want  me  to  damn  well 
lock  you  both  up?" 

He  shuffled  off,  but  suddenly  changing  his  mind 
he  went  back  to  Jean  and  surprised  him  by  saying : 
"Anyway,  a  young  man  like  you,  I  think  it's  dis- 
graceful to  threaten  a  man  forty-two  years  old!" 

"He  provoked  me,"  Jean  protested,  "because 
he  saw  I'd  only  one  good  arm!" 

"I  tell  you,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your- 
self!" 

Cazenave,  whom  he  caught  sight  of  in  the  dinner- 
room,  made  a  grimace :  "What  a  filthy  job !  Have 
you  anything  else  in  view?" 


54  A  Life  at  Stake 

"Nothing,  at  the  Textile.  It's  the  least  ugly 
job  there  is  here."  Jean's  self-pity  showed  in  his 
eyes — "That  smoke!" — and  he  coughed.  "That 
state  of  things  when  one  has  weak  lungs!" 

The  afternoon  in  its  turn  dragged  itself  along, 
Jean  and  Liebal  taking  turns  at  the  crank  in 
hostile  silence.  Darboise  tried  to  profit  by  one 
of  his  rests  to  take  a  walk — "Hey!"  the  sergeant 
called  him  back;  "going  away's  not  allowed!" 

At  six  o'clock  they  mustered  again.  It  was 
the  moment  when  the  Port  suddenly  disgorged 
all  its  toilers.  There  was  reason  to  envy  the 
civilians  who  went  away  peacefully,  pipe  in  mouth, 
while  the  army  men  must  resume  the  lively  and 
regular  step  of  the  fighting  service.  The  fatigue 
leaders,  in  their  responsibility,  dreaded  the  regular 
officers  who  rode  about  on  bicycles — resplendent 
young  men  who  had  never  been  under  fire ! 

They  returned  across  the  dunes.  Jean  had  been 
given  an  old  smock  and  a  rotten  bag,  and  he  saw 
himself  as  one  of  those  helots  whose  passing  yester- 
day had  depressed  him.  But  the  weather  was 
fine;  a  secret  hopefulness  trembled  inside  him. 
This  fagging  was  an  irony  of  fate  that  could  not 
last. 

And  indeed  the  big  sergeant  baggage-master  on 
his  arrival  at  the  cantonment  gave  him  a  letter. 
From  Andree  already?  Yes,  she  had  made  haste 
to  write  to  him  the  very  evening  of  his  going.  She 
said  she  had  been  thinking  things  over;  why  post- 
pone even  for  a  day  the  steps  towards  getting  him 


The  Least  Ugly  Job  55 

recalled?  Let  him,  as  soon  as  he  arrived,  send  an 
urgent  note  to  Chinard,  and  she  herself  would  go 
to  see  him  again.  Should  she  go  to  call  on 
Paulette  Dartigues  also  ?  Jean  felt  himself  rather 
humiliated  at  the  thought  of  the  modest  woman 
approaching  an  adventuress  in  the  part  of  a  beg- 
gar; and  so  much  self-denial,  in  her  so  proud, 
touched  him. 

Andree  added  some  counsel  of  a  practical  sort. 
Let  him  wheedle  his  superiors — his  captain  to 
whom  he  had  an  introduction.  He  must  be  on 
good  terms  with  the  surgeon ;  that  also  was  essen- 
tial. And  in  that  treacherous  climate  he  must 
take  care,  and  watch  himself  closely.  If  he  could 
procure  a  room !  And  when  he  had  been  perspir- 
ing, he  must  be  sure  to  change ! 

Having  read  it  again,  Jean  put  it  tenderly  in  his 
pocket.  He  went  to  the  Bureau.  Percevain  the 
clerk,  to  whom  he  told  his  desire,  looked  at  him 
suspiciously:  "The  captain  himself?" 

"Certainly;  I  have  a  note  for  him." 

Having  exchanged  a  sly  smile  with  the  chief, 
the  other  showed  him  into  the  adjoining  room, 
where  Papa  Meunier,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  was 
playing  cup  and  ball:  "Thirty-five,"  he  counted, 
breathlessly,  "thirty-six."  Seated  in  a  corner, 
Fauvel  made  Jean  a  gesture  of  disapprobation. 
The  captain  missed  his  throw,  and  turned  in 
vexation  to  the  intruder :  ' '  Damnation ! "  he  cried, 
"what  does  he  want  again,  that  owl  there?" 

Darboise  handed  him  Mascard's  letter  without 


56  A  Life  at  Stake 

a  word.  Meunier,  having  run  through  it  at  a 
glance,  exclaimed :  ' '  No !  The  same  as  for  Pres- 
trot!  All  the  lot,  then?  He  recommends  them  all 
to  me !  Funny  man,  that  Captain  Mascard — and 
he  doesn't  know  me!" 

He  went  up  to  Jean,  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
and  fixed  on  him  his  big  eyes,  gleaming  behind 
their  thick  glasses :  "I  must  speak  to  you  harshly. 
I  am  a  hard  man  in  the  service — very  hard.  Ask 
your  comrades — about  the  days  of  imprisonment 
they  get !  But  I  am  just.  We  are  here  a  com- 
pany of  workers.  What  the  devil !  we  are  here  to 
work." 

Adjusting  his  glasses,  he  read  his  colleague's 
letter  again.,  Secretly  Jean  was  rejoicing  in  this 
ready-made  model  for  sketches  to  send  to  the 
comic  papers. 

"A  painter — ah,  ah!"  Meunier  went  on;  "that's 
sure  to  be  of  advantage  to  you.  What  fatigue 
are  you  in?"  And  without  waiting  for  the  reply: 
"Hum!  We've  already  had  here  some  very 
stylish  little  gentlemen.  A  consul  of  France, 
look  you,  vice-consul  at  Constantinople.  A  mere 
private,  and  he  had  to  drudge  like  the  rest.  And 
then,  too,  a  Master  of  Arts,  or  a  Fellow — I  don't 
know  what  not!  That  one  thought  it  beneath 
him  to  pare  potatoes.  They  wrote  to  me  from 
the  Ministry  about  him.  Ah,  ah!  Eight  days 
in  the  guard-room,  I  chucked  him!  Quite  so! 
A  man  is  master  in  his  own  house.  I  got  rid  of 
him.  I  tell  you  all  this  to  show  you,  my  good 


The  Least  Ugly  Job  57 

fellow,  that  recommendations,  where  I'm  con- 
cerned— pooh!" 

Jean  was  enlightened  and  regretted  his  overtures. 
Dismissed,  he  withdrew.  The  lieutenant  overtook 
him  on  the  landing :  ' '  Unskilful,  that,  sonny !  What 
the  devil!  why  didn't  you  speak  to  me  about  it? 
Now  that  the  old  man  knows  you,  he'll  pick  a 
quarrel  with  you,  mind  that!" 

At  the  bottom,  Jean  butted  into  Cazenave, 
who  informed  him  gleefully:  "I've  done  it,  it's 
granted.  I'm  going  tomorrow  morning  to  the 
inspection." 

"I'd  like  to  as  well." 

"Ah,  but  Habert  and  Prestrot  said  they  would 
get  themselves  put  down  for  it.  All  the  lot — I'm 
afraid  that  would  have  a  bad  effect." 

The  adjutant  joined  them,  and  Jean  asked  his 
advice.  Monade  was  explicit:  "No,  come  now, 
they're  three  already.  Try  and  wait  a  day  or 
two." 

Jean  assented — the  good  nature  of  the  adjutant 
had  overcome  him.  While  Cazenave  was  insist- 
ing that  a  room  must  be  hired  for  him  beside  his 
own,  the  adjutant  declared: 

"Now  then!  Darboise  is  a  steady  lad — I 
believe  I've  got  the  spot  for  him — Rue  de  la 
Republique." 

Kindly  he  offered  to  take  Jean  there.  It  was 
at  Mademoiselle  Vandenbucke's,  a  lady  already 
mature;  strong,  affected,  and  pockmarked.  There 
was  nothing  enticing  about  the  place — a  little 


58  A  Life  at  Stake 

room  whose  only  daylight  came  from  a  window 
into  the  kitchen.  But  Jean  saw  that  his  hand 
was  forced;  and  for  the  little  time  he  would  spend 
there,  anyway ! 


CHAPTER  III 

JEAN   STILL  HOPEFUL 

EIGHT  days  went  by,  and  Jean's  lot  had  bettered 
a  little.  Though  less  favoured  than  Cazenave, 
who  had  achieved  his  ends  and  now  occupied  one 
of  the  orderly  posts,  yet  Monade  had  granted 
his  petition  and  changed  his  job.  He  escaped 
to  the  "bakery."  Allotted  to  the  potatoes,  a 
fatigue  also  under  the  control  of  Sergeant  Depussay 
—who  consented  to  the  transfer  only  with  the 
worst  of  grace — this  privileged  circle  did  not  re- 
ceive him  without  coolness.  But  exerting  him- 
self to  dissipate  the  slight  hostility  of  the  atmos- 
phere, he  was  already  succeeding. 

Privileged  circle  ?  Do  not  consider  too  agreeable 
a  job  which  consisted  of  sorting,  paring,  and 
cutting  out  with  the  point  of  a  knife  the  bad  spots 
from  the  half-rotten  tubers  that  came  in  truck- 
loads. 

At  first  Jean  was  surprised;  where  could  such 
potatoes  come  from  and  why  were  they  spoiled? 
They  poked  fun  at  him.  Decante  coldly  assured 
him  that  the  whole  of  the  imported  crop  had  to 
spend,  according  to  specified  conditions,  three  full 
months  in  the  rain  on  the  quays  at  Rouen. 

59 


60  A  Life  at  Stake 

This  Decante  was  a  fair  youth,  bland  at  the 
outset;  more  than  deferential — almost  servile — 
in  his  relations  with  the  chiefs.  In  private  he 
showed  himself  of  bitter  and  cynical  mind,  and 
sometimes  of  disturbing  violence.  Formerly  a 
plate-layer,  dismissed  for  Anarchist  propaganda, 
he  declared  that  he  was  often  obliged  to  mask 
himself,  and  prided  himself  equally  on  wearing  it 
well  and  on  dropping  it  at  will.  A  ready  speaker, 
he  enjoyed  a  certain  amount  of  influence.  He 
made  overtures  to  Jean.  Seated  side  by  side, 
they  chatted,  and  soon  they  sympathised.  De- 
cante had  come  quickly  to  appreciate  the  in- 
tellectual boldness  of  this  young  townsman.  Jean 
relished  the  other's  witticisms,  and  was  swiftly 
led  on  to  perilous  ground.  What  could  one  think 
of  the  state  of  things  in  Europe  after  two  years 
of  exhausting  struggle?  Together  they  scoffed  at 
the  made-to-order  operatics  of  the  newspapers, 
the  fallacious  optimism  of  official  pronouncements. 
Decante  led  him  still  further.  Where  were  the 
objects  of  peace?  Did  they  not  recede  every- 
day? Carry  on?  If  they  were  sure  of  a  crushing 
victory,  by  all  means !  But  such  was  not  the  case, 
and  think  of  the  price  of  each  additional  week! 
He  compared  the  two  sides  to  a  couple  of  losing 
gamblers,  facing  each  other  at  the  gaming-table, 
and  who  persistently  continue,  dreaming  of  im- 
possible retrievings,  without  seeing  that  it  is  the 
"bank"  that  gets  rich  at  their  expense.  All  such 
cynical  opinions  Decante  was  careful  to  utter  only 


Jean  Still  Hopeful  61 

as  whimsical  fancies.  Jean,  too,  discussed  them  in 
a  light-hearted  way,  with  no  rebellion  against 
them.  He  was  far  from  swallowing  them  whole, 
for  he  confidently  believed  at  that  time  that  vic- 
tory was  certain,  and  nearer  perhaps  than  one 
thought. 

In  his  new  vocation,  what  most  disgusted  Dar- 
boise  was  the  fetid  smell  of  all  the  mouldiness  in  the 
midst  of  which  they  worked,  and  the  shiny  pulp 
that  stuck  to  their  hands — those  elegant  hands 
with  carefully  tended  nails,  of  which  he  had  once 
been  so  proud !  He  was  aiming  at  recruiting  some 
friends.  His  candid  and  sprightly  nature  and  his 
studio  jokes  were  not  long  in  making  him  one  of 
the  leaders  of  the  party.  By  his  mimicry  and 
foolery  he  sometimes  aroused  such  laughter  that 
Decante  got  anxious  about  it :  "  Mind  Depussay 
doesn't  get  a  mark  on  you!" 

The  sergeant  often  prowled  in  their  vicinity. 
He  was  hated  for  his  harshness,  his  pitiless  severity, 
that  he  tried  to  disguise  under  an  assumption  of 
good-nature.  Darboise  used  to  imitate  him  amus- 
ingly, his  lameness — that  service  life  seemed  to 
accentuate — and  his  trick  of  wrinkling  his  fore- 
head. Did  Depussay  get  wind  of  this?  One  day 
he  approached  Darboise:  "I  am  sorry,  but  I've 
been  obliged  to  notice  that  you,  and  two  of  your 
comrades,  have  got  too  much  time  on  your  hands ! " 

Fortunately  the  incident  had  no  sequel,  and 
Jean's  heedless  disposition  soon  enabled  him  to  get 
over  it. 


62  A  Life  at  Stake 

It  must  be  admitted  that  what  helped  to  keep 
him  in  a  good  temper  was  his  renewed  confidence 
that  his  exile  was  not  to  become  permanent. 

To  begin  with,  Chinard  had  sent  him  a  cordial 
note  of  assurance  that  he  was  looking  after  his 
interests.  Andree  had  then  been  to  call  on 
Paulette  Dartigues,  who  had  received  her  at 
"Astoria"  in  the  nurse's  uniform  which  she  put 
on  for  two  hours  every  day.  A  warm  letter  soon 
followed.  Letourneur  had  a  favourable  recollec- 
tion of  Jean's  two  drawings  that  once  appeared 
in  the  Quotidien.  In  great  friendliness  Chinard 
urged  Jean  to  send  him,  as  soon  as  possible,  a  series 
of  sketches  made  "down  there." 

Jean  was  delighted.  He  saw  himself  launched 
in  his  turn  by  the  great  journal.  And  he  almost 
congratulated  himself  on  the  chance  that  had 
brought  him  for  some  weeks  to  Dunkerque,  where 
in  truth  many  new  founts  of  inspiration  offered. 

Though  he  had  no  aversion  to  "grand  composi- 
tions," it  was  to  limited  subjects  that  his  tastes 
turned  for  the  moment,  a  "genre"  somewhat  dis- 
credited, thanks  to  an  excess  of  bad  work,  but  one 
in  which  his  master  Claude  Boucheron  and  others, 
under  the  necessity  of  earning  "their  living,  had 
achieved  masterpieces  of  vigour  and  moderation. 
Subjects?  That  swarming  panorama  of  the  Port, 
its  postures  and  incidents,  all  that  he  came  upon 
in  the  course  of  his  strolls  along  the  docks — all 
this  grouped  itself  in  his  head  in  daring  composi- 
tions, and  their  titles  offered  themselves  volunta- 


Jean  Still  Hopeful  63 

rily.  The  time  to  do  it  ?  At  first  he  could  encroach 
on  the  hour  and  a  half  set  apart  for  dinner.  With 
the  last  mouthful  swallowed,  he  slipped  away  and 
sat  apart,  on  sacks  of  rice  or  hay.  In  his  sketch- 
book he  dashed  off  brief  impressions — some  feature 
or  gesture,  the  secret  of  some  line  of  movement; 
sometimes  the  automatic  gait  of  poor  wretches 
literally  transformed  into  beasts  of  burden ;  some- 
times the  formal  dignity  with  which  British  dockers 
performed  the  most  menial  tasks ;  and  the  surprising 
comicality  of  several  townsmen  who  strayed  among 
the  mob — Geoffroy,  of  the  Credit  Lyonnais,  who, 
before  getting  hold  of  a  chest,  would  always  make 
the  gesture  of  rolling  back  his  sleeves;  Rondel, 
formerly  proprietor  of  the  famous  "Green  Pavil- 
ion, "  now  drawing  figure  8's  on  the  ground  with 
an  old  petrol-tin  full  of  water. 

Jean  kept  his  work  quiet.  To  Decante  alone 
he  consented  to  show  some  of  his  sketches.  De- 
cante's  considered  and  cautious  praise  charmed 
him:  "Not  bad — but  you  don't  see  all!" 

He  offered  to  pilot  him,  to  show  him  corners — 
and  "snouts,"  as  he  said — rich  in  suggestions. 
They  went  about  together,  absenting  themselves 
under  the  excuse  of  their  personal  work,  among  the 
twenty  different  activities  of  the  Textile  and  the 
yards  that  were  scattered  along  the  endless  quays. 
Jean  was  charmed  to  see  his  initiation  completed. 
Everywhere  he  saw  exhausting  labour.  Every- 
where his  companion  indicated  and  emphasised 
the  brutality  of  the  chiefs,  the  stupefaction  of 


64  A  Life  at  Stake 

those  under  them,  declaring  firmly  that  there 
were  two  principal  sorts  of  face — the  brute  and  the 
brutalised.  From  afar  Jean  enjoyed  noting 
down  the  shrunken  face  of  Dubus,  the  adjutant  of 
the  "minor  victuals,  "  who  unhooked  his  pipe  from 
his  teeth  only  to  insult  his  inferiors;  the  paunch 
of  Carouge,  ex-sergeant-major,  promoted  for  his 
incapacity  as  administrative  officer,  who  strutted 
about,  a  pretentious  nonentity.  And  the  faces  of 
the  poor  downtrodden  devils  of  the  "bakery" 
only  here  revealed  to  him  their  hopeless  expression 
of  destitute  bestiality.  Nearly  all  of  them  auxil- 
iaries, were  they  then  malingerers  or  mutilated  ? — 
Beslay,  with  his  square  chin  and  the  goitrous  neck 
like  a  cow's;  Gougis's  monkey-like  profile;  little 
Couvray,  whose  distorted  features  seemed  to  over- 
lap. Jean's  pencil  embittered  itself  in  transcribing 
so  much  ugliness,  so  much  human  degradation. 

Decante  congratulated  him :  ' '  Severely  power- 
ful, your  latest  drawings!" 

Jean  felt  himself  on  the  way  to  achievement, 
but  he  wanted  responsible  approval.  He  decided 
to  send  some  of  his  best  sketches  to  Claude 
Boucheron.  Encouragements  did  not  delay. 
"Bravo,  my  boy!"  wrote  the  master,  "the 
best  work  you've  done!" 

Henceforth  sure  that  he  was  in  no  way  deluded, 
for  fifteen  days  running  he  shut  himself  up  to  put 
the  finishing  touches  to  the  series. 

But  what  unexpected  difficulties  he  had  to 
contend  with!  Mademoiselle  Vandenbiicke  sud- 


Jean  Still  Hopeful  65 

denly  manifested  such  a  return  of  coquettishness 
that  he  no  longer  questioned  her  age!  She  as- 
sumed pink  blouses  and  showy  trinkets.  She 
never  left  the  bright  kitchen  upon  which  their 
two  rooms  opened.  Evening  and  morning  she 
lingered  there  in  suggestive  deshabille,  with  her 
hair — which  was  beautiful — loose  upon  her  stout 
shoulders.  She  even  made  excuse  to  enter  her 
lodger's  room:  "Still  at  work,  Monsieur  Jean!" 

One  evening,  having  seated  herself,  she  related 
all  her  life  to  him.  She  was  the  daughter  of  the 
butcher  who  was  formerly  in  the  main  street,  and 
she  had  money,  and  two  houses  at  Malo,  let  by 
the  year.  And  she  found  it  dull — solitude  pained 
her. 

Jean  could  hardly  believe  his  ears.  Had  she 
taken  it  into  her  head  to  marry?  He  produced 
for  her  the  photos  of  his  wife  and  their  little  one, 
and  compelled  her  to  admire  them.  It  was  an 
obvious  blow  for  her !  Then  it  went  too  far.  He 
kept  Andree's  letters  locked  up  in  a  drawer,  and 
noticed  one  fine  day  that  they  had  been  meddled 
with  in  his  absence — the  bundle  was  disarranged ! 
Anger  seized  him  at  the  thought  of  their  endear- 
ments profaned.  The  same  evening  he  gave  notice 
— it  was  just  the  end  of  the  month. 

Decante  found  a  place  for  him — a  bedroom  and 
a  fine  kitchen  on  a  ground  floor.  Its  only  in- 
convenience was  in  being  rather  far  from  the 
school,  but  he  would  have  comparative  comfort  and 
absolute  quiet.  The  proprietress,  Madame  Trous- 


66  A  Life  at  Stake 

seller,  an  aged  widow,  lived  on  the  first  floor  with 
her  daughter-in-law,  whose  husband  was  at  the 
front.  The  two  women  made  no  noise.  Jean 
was  there  nearly  a  week  without  even  seeing  them. 
Then  one  evening  he  met  the  young  woman — 
slender,  dainty,  reserved' — coming  in  with  a  little 
carriage  and  two  babies,  of  whose  existence  even 
he  had  had  no  suspicion  till  then. 

Darboise  would  have  been  delighted  with  his 
new  home  if  Monade  had  not  seemed  to  take  the 
matter  the  wrong  way:  "I  told  that  lady  that 
I  was  bringing  her  a  lodger  for  the  duration  of  ,the 
war." 

Jean  refused  to  believe  that  Monade  would  not 
come  round.  Meeting  him  again  a  few  days 
later  he  sounded  him.  From  the  first  Monade 
had  offered,  if  Jean  should  ever  think  of  sending 
for  his  wife,  to  introduce  him  to  Lavigne,  the 
sergeant  appointed  to  the  railway  station  and 
the  good  genius  of  fond  couples.  Without  with- 
drawing, and  even  less  encouragingly,  the  adju- 
tant said:  "Well,  you  know — that  it's  becoming 
more  and  more  difficult." 

"Come  now — seeing  the  lieutenant's  had  his 
here  for  three  days  now!"  Jean  was  working 
Decante's  tip.  Monade  seemed  embarrassed: 
"Very  well;  I'll  see.  I'll  find  out.  But  you 
know — there's  talk  of  an  order  that  everybody 
must  sleep  at  quarters." 

Bah!  Jean  saw  everything  in  bright  colours. 
As  his  own  return  could  not  be  regarded  as  im- 


Jean  Still  Hopeful  67 

mediate,  although  it  was  coming  nearer,  it  was 
Andree  who  conveyed  to  him,  in  a  letter  which 
arrived  the  same  morning,  her  inmost  and  fervent 
desire.  It  flattered  and  affected  him  deliciously 
— that  modest  confession  into  which  she  had 
slipped,  so  far  from  him;  that  acknowledged  need 
of  him,  were  it  only  for  a  few  short  days,  that 
she  might  gather  strength  and  happiness  again. 


CHAPTER  IV 
JEAN'S  COMRADES 

SEVERAL  days  went  by,  which  he  passed  in 
cheerful  vein.  The  series  of  drawings  was  ending 
to  his  artistic  satisfaction.  May  was  coming  in, 
with  a  gentle  warmth  that  would  have  hallowed 
heaven  itself.  Above  all,  his  cherished  plan  was 
hastening  to  realization. 

As  Dunkerque  was  in  the  proscribed  area,  the 
only  difficulty  related  to  Andree's  journey.  Now, 
Lavigne  was  at  the  passport  office,  and  Darboise 
had  no  need  of  Monade.  It  was  Cazenave  who 
got  him  an  introduction  to  the  sergeant,  a  big 
fellow  with  a  gentle  eye  and  a  nose  comically 
arched,  who  put  himself  at  Jean's  disposition  for 
the  date  which  he  might  select. 

Jean  wrote  triumphantly  to  Andree,  proposing 
a  day  in  the  following  week.  It  would  be  better, 
she  replied,  to  wait  till  the  end  of  the  month,  when 
her  mother  would  be  willing  to  bring  the  baby  to 
Sceaux.  That  was  a  little  trick  on  him.  He 
felt  bitter  towards  his  mother-in-law  for  thus 
postponing  their  reunion. 

A  worthy  woman,  Madame  Sartiagues!    Jean 

68 


Jean's  Comrades  69 

maintained  a  polite  but  rather  indifferent  attitude 
towards  her,  mistrusting  the  bourgeois  spirit 
that  spoke  in  her  eyes.  And  what  a  surprise  then 
it  was  to  receive  an  eight-page  letter  from  her 
the  next  day!  Her  daughter  had  told  her  of  their 
plan,  which  she  found  herself  obliged  to  oppose. 
She  was  addressing  herself  directly  to  her  son-in- 
law,  as  the  more  sensible.  The  proposed  journey 
was  madness!  Had  Jean  thought  of  the  danger? 

The  danger?  Jean  acknowledged  that  he  could 
not  absolutely  deny  it.  Since  his  arrival  at  St. 
Pol,  no  week  had  gone  by  without  a  visit  from  the 
Taubes  either  by  day  or  by  night.  At  night, 
warned  by  the  roaring  siren  at  the  spinning-mill 
they  would  go  down  into  the  cellars.  By  day — 
well,  more  often  than  not  they  went  to  the  win- 
dows, and  watched  the  flight  of  the  big  grey  birds 
among  the  clouds  and  the  bursting  shrapnel. 
Once  only  had  bombs  been  dropped,  with  a  result 
of  several  victims. 

Danger?  Darboise  hesitated.  A  letter  from 
his  wife  arrived.  Andree  begged  him  not  to  mind 
her  mother's  letter — there  had  been  almost  a 
scene  between  them  about  the  matter.  Was 
she  not  the  free  mistress  of  her  own  actions  ?  On 
this  occasion,  she  was  very  determined. 

Jean  understood  and  agreed.  Yes,  their  love 
must  come  first  of  all,  and  the  danger  should 
not  be  exaggerated ! 

Andree  also  repeated  her  advice  of  some  days 
before — to  go  and  call  on  their  cousins  the  d'Esti- 


70  A  Life  at  Stake 

gnards  at  Malo,  who  she  imagined  might  be  useful 
on  occasion,  since  they  had  lived  there  for  twenty 
years.  Jean  undertook  to  present  himself  at 
Primrose  Villa. 

M.  d'Estignard  was  a  tall  elderly  man,  whose 
white  whiskers,  regular,  sly  features,  and  skull- 
cap gave  him  the  important  air  of  the  old-time 
law-court  judge  that  in  fact  he  was.  His  wife — 
sprightly  and  slender,  with  the  becoming  coiffure 
of  another  century — charmed  one  by  her  animation 
and  courteous  refinement.  And  the  darling  of  the 
house  was  the  young  daughter  Sylvaine.  When 
Jean  saw  her  he  rose  in  astonishment.  For  her 
stature,  her  eyes,  even  to  the  delicate  poise  of 
her  head — he  could  not  help  saying :  "I  thought 
it  was  my  wife ! ' ' 

That  made  merriment,  and  the  young  girl 
declared  laughingly :  ' '  People  have  often  told  me 
that  I  resembled  my  cousin — and  I  want  so  much 
to  know  her!" 

Darboise,  promptly  and  confidentially,  replied: 
"Ah,  you  will  not  have  to  wait  long. " 

He  told  them  a  little  of  his  hopes.  And  his 
hosts  were  delighted:  "Sylvaine  has  been  so 
lonely  since  the  war, "  said  Madame  d'Estignard, 
her  looks  caressing  the  young  girl. 

rTea  was  served,  and  the  conversation  took  a 
most  friendly  course.  They  talked  about  music. 
Sylvaine,  according  to  her  mother,  had  an  excellent 
and  well-trained  voice,  but  she  had  no  one  to  ac- 
company her  on  the  piano.  Jean  lingered,  de- 


Jean's  Comrades  71 

lighted  with  the  domestic  heartiness.  The  talk 
having  turned  on  the  disaster  of  the  times,  the 
d'Estignards  displayed  a  humane  and  lofty  at- 
titude of  mind  that  disarmed  irony.  Patriots  and 
Catholics,  confident  of  victory,  ready  to  accept 
anything  for  its  sake,  they  did  not  blush  to  regret 
the  horror  of  the  long  sacrifice.  They  were  French, 
and  they  were  paying  their  debts  to  France! 
Their  son  Marcel,  an  auxiliary  surgeon,  had  seen 
painful  things  in  the  Argonne. 

"Where  is  he,  just  now?" 

' ( Near  Roy e." 

With  Augueres,  Jean  thought.  Ingenuously, 
his  eyes  always  returned  to  the  young  girl.  When 
the  war  was  mentioned,  the  innocent  face  seemed 
to  be  veiled  with  a  secret  sorrow,  and  in  the  tragic 
moments  of  parting  Jean  could  again  see  in  it  the 
face  of  his  beloved.  Compassionately  he  thought, 
"Poor  little  girl,  has  she  got  some  one  over  there? " 

He  left  them  with  the  promise  that  he  would 
soon  come  again.  A  week,  a  fortnight  went  by, 
and  he  had  not  made  an  opportunity.  It  was  not 
that  the  time  was  lacking.  His  fatigue  party  even 
enjoyed  several  successive  days  of  rest.  He  had 
just  packed  up  his  drawings  and  addressed  them 
to  Chinard.  No,  there  was  no  real  excuse,  except 
that  he  was  yielding  to  the  lure  of  spring,  to  the 
desire  to  drink  deeply  of  that  air  of  May  which  in 
February  he  had  doubted  if  he  would  be  there 
to  enjoy. 

The  town  had  little  attraction  for  him.     He  had 


72  A  Life  at  Stake 

to  go  there  in  order  to  secure  an  official  per- 
mit, but  in  cutting  through  it  he  had  hardly  stayed 
long  anywhere  except  in  front  of  the  church  of 
St.  Jean,  which  was  half  destroyed  by  fire,  heart- 
rending to  see,  its  windows  broken,  its  buttresses 
hopeless  of  anything  to  support.  As  for  the  Port, 
he  intended  to  know  it.  One  day  he  extended 
his  walk  to  the  lighthouse,  and  farther  still,  to 
the  end  of  the  huge  jetty  which  extends  out  into 
the  open  sea.  But  it  was  of  country  excursions 
that  he  was,  as  always,  most  fond.  Several  times 
he  borrowed  Cazenave's  bicycle,  which  had 
been  sent  to  him.  Then  he  had  the  physical 
satisfaction  of  pedalling  without  fatigue  along  the 
fine  level  roads.  Rosendael,  Malo — small  towns 
of  holiday  resort,  but  deserted  and  mournful  now 
in  their  congealed  coquetry;  busy  Coudekerque- 
Branche;  Bourbourg,  on  the  marge  of  its  canal; 
Petite-Synthe  the  moss-grown;  Grande-Synthe, 
Mardyck,  and  farther  still,  Loon-Plage  with  its 
endless  sands.  He  explored  all,  light-hearted, 
content  in  the  strength  of  his  legs.  There  was 
nothing  in  all  this  to  compare  with  his  wonderful 
Provence;  but  his  emancipated  spirit,  more  at 
liberty  to  dream  only  of  Andree,  ran,  leaping,  to 
meet  his  approaching  happiness. 

Of  a  sociable  nature,  Jean  wished  he  could  have 
found  a  friend  during  this  period  of  waiting- — if 
only  to  talk  about  Her!  If  he  could  have  had 
Templier  or  Boussac — dear,  departed  confidants ! 
Or  Augueres!  He  wrote  to  the  latter,  who  re- 


Jean's  Comrades  73 

plied  from  the  Oise,  where  preparations  for  the 
offensive  were  engrossing  his  whole  attention. 

To  whom  could  he  turn?  The  level  of  those 
around  him  was  a  low  one — peasants  and  workmen 
who  saw  nothing  beyond  their  "booze  and  bacca" ; 
and  in  the  coffee  fatigue,  a  few  wrongheaded 
grumblers,  like  Liebal,  and  Nouvion,  the  former 
wrestler,  from  the  African  punishment  battalion, 
before  whom  the  whole  company  trembled;  and 
the  cooper  Lauguenac,  pink  and  blooming,  with  a 
bullet  in  his  knee,  the  incorrigible  idler  and  past- 
master  of  "  go  easy. ' '  Companions  for  him  ?  No. 
He  could  not  count  on  Decante.  He  disappeared 
at  the  very  beginning  of  dinner,  and  one  knew  that 
he  had  a  little  "establishment"  in  town.  (A 
frequent  happening.  Thus  it  was  that  Saumade 
acted  as  landlord,  installed  in  a  tavern  whose  land- 
lady had  lost  her  husband  in  the  war;  the  evil  of  it 
being  that  he  also  had  a  wife,  living  at  Pantin, 
whom  he  was  glad  to  go  to  see  every  three  months, 
when  on  leave.) 

Nothing  to  rely  on,  either,  among  the  middle- 
class  men — Rondel  the  restaurant-keeper,  Geoff  roy 
of  the  Credit  Lyonnais;  to  whom  were  added 
Fluzin,  afflicted  with  a  hideous  wen,  but  nephew 
of  a  former  Minister,  and  assigned  by  that  qualifi- 
cation to  the  "sanitary  fatigue,"  in  which  one 
took  things  easy ;  and  Giraud,  a  bearded  chap  of 
pensive  physiognomy  that  one  would  have  taken 
for  a  country  teacher  sooner  than  a  grocer  of 
the  Rue  Marais,  Paris.  The  antiquity  of  their 


74  A  Life  at  Stake 

association  with  the  detachment  qualified  all  four 
to  take  their  meals  at  the  non-coms.'  mess,  as  well 
as  instructor  Percevain  and  the  assistant  baggage- 
master  Hirschfeld,  a  pale  and  elegant  young  man 
who  was  believed  to  take  cocaine.  The  mess! 
The  question  had  indeed  been  raised  of  making 
room  also  for  Cazenave  and  Darboise.  Monade 
urged  it.  Depussay,  commanding  the  mess,  had 
formally  opposed  it. 

Jean  regretted  that  he  had  no  stripe.  At  St. 
Pol,  the  sole  duty  of  the  non-coms,  was  to  lead  their 
fatigue  parties  to  the  Port — and  several  excused 
themselves  from  that.  Thereafter,  and  generally 
speaking,  their  time  was  their  own.  Truth  to 
say,  Darboise  wondered  if  even  in  that  communion 
he  would  have  found  what  he  was  looking  for. 
After  each  meal  the  company  remained  shut  up  in 
the  room  set  apart  for  them,  played  cards,  drank, 
shouted,  and  ground  music-hall  jingles  out  of  the 
piano.  . 

Jean  appreciated  his  corporals  in  the  service, 
though  most  of  them  were  rustic  dullards.  There 
was  Muret,  who  could  hardly  read  or  write;  Vol- 
bold,  a  big-mouthed  man  who  was  afflicted  with 
a  chronic  loss  of  voice,  and  who  smelt  of  wine 
at  three  paces.  There  was  Cachin,  too,  he  whom 
he  had  seen  in  trouble  that  first  day, — a  "good 
little  lad"  it  was  agreed,  who  often  intervened 
at  the  "bakery"  on  behalf  of  his  men.  On  that 
account  he  had  got  into  the  clutches  of  the  Depart- 
ment non-coms.,  and  become  the  captain's  pet 


Jean's  Comrades  75 

aversion,  so  that  his  only  remaining  ambition  was 
centred  on  the  suspension  list,  for  which  his  heart- 
disease,  aggravated  by  tobacco  and  night-watches, 
made  him  a  strong  competitor. 

With  the  sergeants,  too, — except  Depussay — 
Jean  had  only  distant  relations.  Bousquet,  a 
mere  nobody,  he  understood  better  now;  he 
could  only  have  made  him  those  advances  at 

F and  on  the  railway  journey  to  relieve  his 

own  boredom,  for  since  their  arrival  he  pretended 
not  to  know  him.  Who  was  there  beside?  The 
rotund  baggage-master,  who  went  woman-hunting 
with  Monade;  Dulac,  a  shallow  personage  with 
the  elegance  of  a  hairdresser's  assistant,  and  com- 
mander of  the  "sanitary  fatigue";  Gandolphe, 
who  came  from  Class  '17,  squat,  short-sighted,  of 
vulgar  appearance;  Richard,  the  canteen-keeper 
of  St.  Cloud,  a  red-faced  mischief-maker.  There 
was  no  need  to  study  them  deeply ;  they  all  oozed 
mediocrity. 

After  all  this  weeding-out,  Jean  fell  back  on 
Cazenave.  What  had  he  against  that  man? 
The  little  Bordelais  was  obliging,  and  lent  him 
his  bicycle.  He  had  undertaken,  in  case  of  air- 
raid warning,  to  run  to  the  Rue  Jeanne  d'Arc  and 
tell  him.  Well  posted  in  everything,  by  reason  of 
his  occupation,  he  gave  Jean  the  tips.  His  deal- 
ings were  all  satisfactory,  in  sum.  Often  he  would 
sound  Jean :  ' '  Will  you  come  for  a  stroll  ?  What 
are  you  doing  tomorrow  ?  Come  and  have  a  cup 
of  tea  at  my  show!" 


76  A  Life  at  Stake 

Jean  always  declined.  But  this  evening,  he 
agreed  to  take  a  turn  with  him. 

They  wandered  through  the  streets  of  St.  Pol, 
which  swarmed  at  that  hour,  and  chatted.  Dar- 
boise  tested  the  ground,  with  a  view  to  closer 
friendship  between  them.  It  was  a  speedy  dis- 
illusionment, so  few  were  the  things  they  had  in 
common!  One  after  another  he  tried  several 
subjects  that  Cazenave  failed  to  respond  to.  As 
for  himself,  the  babble  of  his  companion  left  him 
heedless.  Moreover,  winks  and  smiles  were  pass- 
ing between  him  and  the  girls  of  the  spinning-mill ; 
and  it  irritated  Jean  prodigiously.  He  must  be 
left  to  his  intrigues!  At  an  early  hour  Jean  sug- 
gested going  in. 

Evening  was  falling  as  they  returned,  and  the 
moon  had  not  long  risen.  Suddenly  the  siren's 
shriek  made  the  passers-by  come  to  a  standstill 
around  them :  ' '  What's  that  ? ' ' 

The  harsh  call  ceased  for  a  second,  and  was 
repeated  once,  twice — people  lifted  their  faces;  a 
Taube  ?  ' '  Wait,— four,  five ' ' 

The  series  of  blasts  was  extended  to  eight. 
Then  there  was  a  scurry  among  the  promenad- 
ers — "a  Zeppelin!" 

The  street  emptied  itself.  A  Zeppelin!  In  the 
distance  one  could  make  out  the  drone  of  a  power- 
ful engine.  Explosions  followed;  the  guns  in  the 
square  were  firing ! 

Jean  gazed  up  at  the  sky.  Cazenave  seized 
him  by  the  arm:  "What — what  shall  we  do?" 


Jean's  Comrades  77 

"That's  what  I'm  wondering." 

"Where  can  we  go?"  The  little  Bordelais  was 
trembling  on  his  legs.  This  sign  of  fright,  instead 
of  irritating  Darboise,  moved  him  to  pity,  he  who 
felt  himself  to  have  been  steeped  in  the  crucible 
of  ordeal. 

The  siren  had  taken  breath,  and  its  mournful 
voice  arose  once  more.  They  were  still  on  the 
pavement.  "Come,  come  along,"  Cazenave  re- 
peated, and  tried  to  pull  Jean  along,  for  he  lacked 
the  strength  to  escape  by  himself. 

"Whereto?" 

"To  a  cellar— come!" 

Jean  remembered  that  bombs  with  time-fuses 
dropped  from  the  dirigibles  usually  burst  right  in 
the  foundations :  ' '  Follow  me ! ' ' 

He  began  to  run,  and  in  full  control  of  himself, 
guided  the  other  and  supported  him  by  the  arm 
when  he  nearly  fell.  In  less  than  a  minute  they 
had  gained  the  dunes.  Jean  remembered  the 
trenches  cut  there  and  jumping  into  the  long 
hollow,  he  said  merrily:  "Do  you  think  we  shall 
be  badly  off  here?" 

"Oh,  there— look!" 

Towards  the  horizon  they  could  dimly  see  a  grey 
shape,  an  oblong  phantom  that  glided  through 
the  sky.  Almost  at  the  same  moment,  the  shafts 
of  searchlights  swept  through  the  emptiness. 
The  long  pencilled  rays  crossed  each  other  and 
broke  away  again  in  doubt.  Suddenly  they 
caught  the  monster's  hull  as  the  leviathan  in 


78  A  Life  at  Stake 

metal  floated  along,  its  under  side  brilliant,  its 
top  like  dull  silver  under  the  moon. 

"How  beautiful  it  is!"  Jean  murmured,  in  an 
artist's  enjoyment  of  the  vision. 

With  an  interval  of  a  few  seconds,  there  came 
two  explosions  of  falling  bombs,  the  second  one 
nearer.  The  Zeppelin  was  rushing  straight  over 
St.  Pol.  Cazenave  seized  Jean  by  the  neck  and 
threw  himself  on  his  knees  so  as  to  force  him  to 
crouch.  Boom!  They  were  shaken  and  stunned. 
A  third  fearful  explosion  set  the  air  trembling. 
That  one  was  in  the  town,  without  doubt! 
"Mother!"  cried  Cazenave. 

Together  they  threw  themselves  flat.  But 
Jean's  eye  did  not  leave  the  monster  that  was 
passing  exactly  over  their  heads.  A  few  seconds 
went  by — the  Zeppelin  was  escaping  towards  the 
east. 

"Well?"  said  Jean  gently. 

As  Cazenave  did  not  stir,  he  called  him  again. 
The  other  then  half  stood  up,  and  forcing  a  weak 
smile,  said:  "Don't  damn  well  laugh  at  me!" 

Jean's  heart  went  out  in  pity  for  so  much 
weakness  detected.  "Don't  be  afraid,  it's  over 
my  lad ! "  and  he  caressed  the  other's  cheek. 


BOOK  III 

CHAPTER  I 

DAILY   PROMENADES 

As  Darboise  returned  from  his  work  in  the 
evening,  Cazenave  said  to  him,  "Let's  hurry  over 
the  grub,  eh?" 

Obliged  to  take  his  meals  at  the  mess,  if  only 
for  economical  reasons,  Jean  ate  without  appetite 
between  two  gluttonous  neighbours,  of  whom  one, 
Chevillard,  cleaned  his  mess- tin  for  him  for  a 
penny  a  day.  Jean  was  one  of  the  first  to  rise 
from  the  table,  but  Cazenave  was  waiting  for  him 
already :  ' '  Come  as  you  are ! ' ' 

"Never!"  The  other  went  with  him  to  the 
Rue  Jeanne  d'Arc,  where  Darboise  in  a  twinkling 
washed  and  brushed  himself,  and  exchanged  his 
working- jacket  for  the  horizon-blue  tunic  made 
at  F before  his  departure. 

It  was  the  hour  when  the  town  filled  up  with 
humming  life.  The  saw-mill  and  the  spinning-mill 
were  releasing  their  hundreds  of  working-girls,  and 
Cazenave's  eyes  glistened. 

Nothing  amused  Jean  so  much  as  the  manoeuvres 

79 


8o  A  Life  at  Stake 

of  the  little  Bordelais.  He  knew  the  truth  about 
the  relaxed  morals  among  this  feminine  population. 
What  surroundings  for  a  philanderer !  He  himself, 
on  those  rare  occasions  when  he  went  to  work 
among  the  dunes,  had  had  some  lively  encounters. 
Cazenave  must  be  enjoying  himself!  How  often 
Jean  had  surprised  him  joking  with  girls  who 
were  not  the  least  bit  timid,  or  again,  strolling  in 
Monade's  company,  who  exercised  the  fascination 
of  his  bright  sheepish  eyes  and  curled  moustache. 

What  astonishment  it  was  to  receive  confidences 
from  Cazenave  in  the  first  days  of  their  new  friend- 
ship !  He  was  disappointed,  bitterly  disappointed. 

He  had  even  come  to  regret  having  left  F , 

where  he  had  such  a  good  time!  Exceedingly 
annoying,  these  girls  here !  Certainly,  they  "carried 
on"  willingly, — not  at  all  shy,  by  Gad! — and 
they  gave  the  "glad  eye"  in  response  to  winks, 
and  to  the  most  pointed  of  remarks  answers  of  the 
same  sort.  They  would  even  make  appointments, 
but  they  always  came  in  twos. 

Jean  laughed  at  him:  "It's  serious,  then,  is  it, 
eh?" 

Oh,  no!  It  was  because  he  had  scored  a  blank! 
There  were  two  or  three,  Cazenave  confessed, 
with  whom  he  reckoned  it  would  finish  up  all 
right.  But  after  a  week  at  the  game,  they 
would  solemnly  ask  him  if  his  "intentions"  were 
marriage? 

"It's  disparaging  to  oneself,  you  understand!" 
Cazenave  added :  "I  was  wrong.  The  first  ones 


Daily  Promenades  81 

I  chaffed,  I  had  the  bad  luck  to  let  them  know  I 
hadn't  been — to  the  front.  Ever  since,  they  poke 
fun  at  me  about  it — all  of  them,  and  tell  me  a  lot 
of  rot  about  their  brother,  or  their  best  boy,  or 
their  fiance;  and  even  if  he's  been  killed,  they 
wouldn't  half  replace  him  with  a  shirker,  by  what 
they  say!" 

He  finished,  and  looking  at  Jean,  said:  "Ah,  I 
ought  to  have  the  trump  cards  that  you've  got!'' 

One  evening  he  confided  to  Jean:  "They've 
seen  us  strolling  together,  and  they've  asked  me 
questions.  I  believe  you've  taken  Marguerite's 
fancy." 

"What  Marguerite?" 

"The  big  red-haired  girl  that  I  pointed  out  to 
you  the  other  night,  the  one  you  said 

"She  was  pretty,  yes."  Darboise  ended  by 
becoming  partial  to  their  daily  promenades.  He 
now  more  quickly  finished  off  his  meal  and  his 
toilet,  so  that  seven  o'clock  should  find  him  at 
the  spinning-mill. 

A  few  minutes  after  the  siren  had  uttered  its 
harsh  gasp,  the  first  of  the  work-girls  hurried 
through  the  gates — open  at  last.  How  quickly 
they  sped !  One  divined  in  their  haste  something 
like  resentment  for  a  beautiful  day  wasted,  and 
hope  for  revenge  on  destiny. 

Yet,  poor  girls,  no  longer  were  their  lovers  wait- 
ing for  them,  they  on  whose  arms  they  once  used 
to  walk  away  in  foolish  and  palpitating  laughter! 
Alas  for  the  male  generation,  carried  off  and 


82  A  Life  at  Stake 

buried  in  the  trenches  yonder,  mangled  by  machine- 
guns — perhaps  at  that  minute,  and  so  many  of 
them  rotting  for  months  past  in  unknown  holes! 
Alas  for  the  young  women,  too  soon  widowed! 
Some  of  them  were  mating  again  with  the  hel- 
meted  comrades  so  rarely  seen — exempted  or  sus- 
pended, weakly  cavaliers  who  brought  with  them 
little  honour!  Others,  defying  the  gossips,  con- 
sented to  be  paraded  along  the  canal  by  zouaves, 
in  their  conquering  Algerian  head-dress.  These 
were  billeted  in  the  villas  opposite,  where  their 
good  friends  rejoined  them  from  the  mth  or  the 
2Qth.  But  these  intrigues  did  not  attract  atten- 
tion like  the  beautiful  intimacies  of  yore,  and  they 
were  regarded  with  less  favour  by  the  mothers, 
who  rightly  feared  the  soldier  as  an  exile  who  was 
eager  for  the  pleasure  that  had  no  morrow. 


CHAPTER  II 

TWO   GOOD-LOOKING   GIRLS 

FOR  the  third  time,  now,  our  friends  met  the 
two  good-looking  girls.  Cazenave,  much  excited, 
whispered,  "I  tell  you,  it's  coming  off!" 

They  had  turned  right-about-face.  So  had  the 
girls,  who  smiled  frankly  upon  them  at  the  re- 
sultant meeting.  Jean  remarked  aloud:  "There 
go  some  young  ladies  in  merry  mood!" 

' '  Because  they've  got  good  consciences ! ' '  They 
slowed  down,  as  though  inviting  the  others  to 
follow.  They  let  themselves  be  overtaken,  and 
on  the  bank  of  the  canal,  the  conversation  was 
continued. 

Jean  found  himself  pushed  to  the  front.  His 
spirit  and  gift  of  the  gab  worked  wonders.  But 
he  was  not  flirting  on  his  own  account,  and  thought 
only  of  helping  Cazenave ;  yet  here  he  was  obliterat- 
ing the  other  and  making  him  appear  an  outsider. 
Darboise  realised  it,  turned  round,  and  made  him- 
self small  in  the  presence  of  his  friend,  whom 
he  represented  with  comical  earnestness  as  being 
desperately ' '  smitten. ' ' 

"And  you — you're  not?"  the  red-haired  girl 
said  daringly. 

83 


84  A  Life  at  Stake 

"Ah,  excuse  me,  I'm  married,  while  this  young 
bachelor " 

He  voluntarily  eclipsed  himself  behind  Cazenave, 
whom  he  even  provided  with  the  means  of  shin- 
ing. The  latter  made  some  funny  rejoinders  which 
scored  in  their  turn.  Jean,  with  his  hands  behind 
his  back,  assumed  an  air  of  indifference. 

"Monsieur  is  dreaming?"  the  fair  girl  asked. 

The  red-haired  one  insisted — "Of  whom?" 

They  teased  him  for  a  minute;  then  the  Borde- 
lais  resumed  the  game;  and  then  it  was  the  girls 
who  proceeded  to  desired  confidences. 

They  declared  themselves  above  the  St.  Pol 
average  in  training  and  schooling.  They  were 
the  daughters,  mark  you,  of  a  tax-collector  of  the 
Maubeuge  district,  and  had  heard  nothing  of  their 
parents  since  the  beginning  of  the  war.  They 
lived  here  with  an  aunt,  and  they  saw  no  one,  and 
they  were  bored  to  extinction.  They  complained 
crossly  of  the  evil  tongues  of  their  neighbours. 

Cazenave  was  playing  the  lady-killer.  Jean, 
again  silent,  was  watching  the  trio  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye.  Agreeable  girls,  those  two !  The 
red-haired  one,  especially,  displayed  admirable 
lines.  Her  proportions  were  worthy  of  the  antique ! 
What  a  goddess  she  might  have  posed  for — yes, 
the  Diana  for  which  Delard  had  hunted  a  model  so 
long! 

They  lingered.  Henriette,  the  blonde,  looking 
at  her  wrist-watch,  suddenly  exclaimed:  "Ten 
o'clock !  Whatever  will  aunt  say  ? " 


Two  Good- Looking  Girls       85 

' '  Bah !    You're  independent  enough ! ' ' 

"Certainly." 

"Shall  we  take  you  home?" 

"No,  thanks;  there  are  too  many  idle  tongues." 

The  girls  cut  the  farewells  short,  and  disappeared 
quickly  in  the  darkness,  as  they  followed  the  tow- 
path. 

"Well,  what  do  you  say  about  them?  Are  they 
approved?"  Cazenave  asked  in  open-hearted  glee. 

Jean  said  nothing — surprised  and  troubled  as  he 
recalled  the  hot  pressure  of  the  red-haired  girl's 
hand.  During  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour  she 
had  not  spoken  a  word  to  him. 


A  strong  rumour  was  running,  confirming 
Monade's  warning,  that  permits  to  sleep  in  town 
would  presently  be  cancelled.  But  Darboise  flat- 
tered himself  that  he  could  come  to  terms  with 
heaven  itself.  The  adjutant  was  giving  him  the 
cold  shoulder.  On  the  other  hand,  he  was  making 
progress  in  Fauvel's  graces.  The  lieutenant  had 
several  times  invited  him  to  "chat  about  art." 
He  had  taken  him  home,  had  offered  him  a  liqueur 
brandy — what  a  surprise! — had  read  some  of  his 
verses  to  him — Oh,  what  verses!  He  had  even 
asked  his  advice  in  the  matter  of  a  poker-work 
panel,  and  made  himself  ridiculous  by  not  adding 
that  it  was  his  wife's  work. 

Protected  in  that  direction,  Jean  went  to  see 
Lavigne  again  at  the  station.  The  sergeant, 


86  A  Life  at  Stake 

faithful  to  his  promise,  made  out  for  him  (and 
tranquilly  stamped  with  his  captain's  signature) 
a  permit  in  the  name  of  Madame  Darboise,  "com- 
mercial traveller." 

Kindness  itself,  this  good  Lavigne!  But  a  cer- 
tain wildness  in  his  manner  surprised  Jean.  Caze- 
nave,  questioned  on  the  matter,  shook  his  head: 
"Ah,  you  noticed  it!  Yes,  it  can  be  seen.  Poor 
lad!" 

Though  of  very  good  family,  the  son  of  a  sub- 
stantial manufacturer  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Baume-les-Dames,  the  sergeant  had  been  unlucky 
of  late  years; — enormous  losses  on  the  Stock 
Exchange,  his  wife's  elopement  with  a  dentist,  and 
the  war  on  top  of  all.  He  was  drinking  now,  to 
forget  his  troubles;  he  was  becoming  besotted. 
Those  who  had  seen  him  when  he  first  came  there 
said  that  the  change  in  him  in  a  year  was  frightful. 

"A  pity,  eh?" 

But  the  essential  thing  for  Jean  was  the  precious 
permit,  available  for  a  fortnight,  which  he  had 
just  posted  with  a  long  letter  that  would  surely 
decide  Andree  to  set  off  within  three  days. 

During  those  seventy-two  hours,  Darboise  lived 
in  impassioned  agitation.  He  was  only  waiting 
now  for  a  telegram.  Ah,  his  sweetheart! — He 
kept  himself  apart  that  he  might  gaze  upon  her 
photograph. 


It  was  a  shock,  that  card  that  came  from  Andree 


Two  Good- Looking  Girls        87 

on  the  fourth  day  to  tell  him  that  the  baby  had 
just  got  whooping-cough!  And  badly,  too — such 
coughing-fits  to  quell !  The  doctor,  without  wish- 
ing to  alarm  her,  did  not  conceal  that  the  matter 
must  be  closely  watched,  in  view  of  the  always 
possible  complication  of  pneumonia.  It  was  out 
of  the  question  that  she  could  leave  Paris  for  some 
time. 

Jean,  as  he  turned  the  page  over  and  turned  it 
again,  repeated  to  himself  aloud,  "What  damned 
luck!"  He  could  not  but  approve  his  wife's  de- 
cision, but  he  had  an  intuition  or  presentiment 
of  a  nameless  danger. 

Gome,  now!  He  must  be  patient,  since  he 
could  not  help  it !  What  was  four  or  five  weeks  ? 
At  first  he  sought  nepenthe  in  his  work.  But  in 
vain;  he  had  neither  desire  nor  success.  So  he 
would  let  off  the  steam  physically, — this  was  the 
time  to  borrow  Cazenave's  bicycle  and  go  for  long, 
wild  rides.  But  the  periods  of  ' '  rest ' '  had  become 
rarer.  Every  evening  he  found  himself  full  of 
pent-up  energy. 


OLD   LOVE    LETTERS 

IT  was  impossible,  without  offending  Cazenave, 
to  shun  for  long  these  evening  strolls  that  had 
become  customary.  Jean  found  himself  obliged 
to  return  to  the  canal  path  to  greet  the  two  amiable 
sisters — a  rendezvous  which  had  many  morrows. 

Marguerite,  the  red-haired  one,  visibly  seized 
by  amorous  infatuation  and  piqued  by  Jean's 
smiling  coldness  towards  her,  gave  up  her  reserve, 
in  spite  of  herself,  sometimes  sighing  aloud  for 
any  who  would  condescend  to  understand,  and 
sometimes  showing  special  favour  to  Cazenave  by 
way  of  exciting  his  friend's  jealousy.  Her  instinct, 
too,  taught  her  that  men  are  led  by  their  vanity. 
She  started  encouraging  Darboise  to  talk  about 
his  campaigns,  and  the  Bordelais  had  to  listen  to 
him  telling  the  story  of  Nanteuil  or  Douaumont, 
while  the  entranced  sisters  flattered  him  with 
languishing  looks.  "How  you  have  suffered!" 
Henriette  exclaimed. 

The  other  girl  showed  herself  every  evening 
readier  to  accord  him  the  hero's  reward.  Some- 
times suddenly  familiar,  she  poked  gentle  fun  at 

88 


Old  Love  Letters  89 

the  significance  of  his  cap,  then  pretended  to  take 
it  away  from  him.  He  would  prevent  her  laugh- 
ingly, and  this  meant  a  short  struggle  face  to  face, 
holding  each  other  tightly  by  the  wrist.  Again, 
she  would  break  without  reason  into  the  middle 
of  his  stories  and  clap  her  hand  suddenly  over 
his  mouth,  and  the  touch  of  his  warm  lips  and 
silken  moustache  sufficed  to  set  her  trembling. 

"I  tell  you,  she's  dotty  on  you!"  Cazenave 
whispered  to  his  friend. 

"Nonsense!" — Jean  affected  innocence  or  scep- 
ticism. He  was  annoyed,  one  evening  when  all 
four  were  returning,  to  meet  the  adjutant,  and 
especially  when  the  latter  said  to  him  next  day, 
jovially, ' '  There  are  some  gentlemen  who  don't  find 
things  dull!" 


' '  Hey !     One  for  you,  sonny ! ' ' 

From  the  platform  of  a  staggering  tramcar,  the 
big  baggage-master  held  a  letter  out  to  Jean.  He 
took  it,  and  at  once  recognized  Andree's  writing. 
He  opened  it  slowly.  He  remembered  his  emotion, 
once  upon  a  time,  at  the  first  letters  from  Andree ! 
He  began  to  read  it,  and  already  certain  that  it 
was  all  up  with  the  contemplated  act  of  base- 
ness, for  that  evening  at  least,  a  weight  was  lifted 
from  him. 

Dear  sweetheart!  The  long  letter  was  full  of 
modest  and  intimate  details,  perfumed  with 
trustfulness  and  infinite  tenderness.  Andr6e  went 


90  A  Life  at  Stake 

over  her  day  again  for  him.  She  had  not  gone 
out,  and  had  spent  hours  by  the  little  invalid. 
The  doctor  had  been,  and  was  more  reassuring. 
Left  alone  in  the  afternoon,  while  her  mother 
had  gone  into  town,  she  had  found,  while  she  was 
tidying  things,  the  letters  he  had  written  her 
when  they  were  engaged,  letters  tied  up  with  a 
pink  ribbon,  at  the  bottom  of  a  drawer.  Cards 
and  letters,  she  had  read  them  all  again,  one  by 
one,  and  then  reread  them.  How  quickly  the 
afternoon  had  gone!  She  had  only  interrupted 
her  reading  to  give  a  glance,  or  medicine,  to  the 
little  one  who  was  playing  on  the  bed;  and  when 
the  letters  were  finished — did  he  guess  what  she 
did? — well,  she  had  looked  up  in  their  turn  the 
letters  he  had  sent  her  since  the  war,  during  their 
three  periods  of  separation.  What  delight  to 
notice  their  still  more  entrancing  tone!  And 
especially  those  of  the  last  few  weeks,  in  their 
impassioned  vehemence ! 

As  he  read  the  lines,  Jean  felt  tears  rising  to  his 
eyes.  A  picture  arose  also  to  his  mind;  the 
well-loved  woman,  the  chosen  one,  by  the  bedside 
of  the  child  created  in  their  divine  image,  express- 
ing for  him  in  the  lamplight  the  chosen  outpour- 
ings of  his  heart. 

He  breathed  the  air  in  childish  relief.  Five 
weeks  were  a  negligible  delay  in  view  of  their 
gorgeous  crowning.  Swarms  of  loving  words 
that  he  could  cast  into  a  letter  whirled  in  his 
head  like  birds. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AN   AIR  RAID 

JEAN  had  kept  his  word  to  himself.  During 
the  day  he  had  written  two  long  letters  to  Andree, 
and  then  slipped  away  on  the  bicycle  after  dinner. 
Having  returned,  he  was  resting  his  elbows  on  the 
sill  of  his  window,  opened  wide  upon  the  orchards. 

It  was  the  time  for  meditation,  before  complete 
repose.  To  disturb  the  silence,  there  remained 
only  the  laughter  of  children,  scattering  in  the 
distance.  Night  was  approaching  in  serenity, 
profound  and  wonderful.  There  was  not  a  cloud, 
and  stars  were  twinkling  in  the  transparent  abyss ; 
while  yonder,  just  over  the  Port,  a  big  moon 
appeared,  red  as  a  foggy  sun,  behind  the  un- 
welcome outlines  of  chimneys  and  cranes.  It 
rose  rapidly,  and  was  soon  pouring  its  opal  light 
on  the  slated  roofs  of  the  lower  buildings.  Jean 
lingered ;  a  breeze  was  stirring  his  hair  and  gently 
cooling  him  after  his  ride.  He  breathed  freely. 
Fruit  was  rilling  the  air  with  a  faint  sweet  scent, 
in  hopes  of  maturity,  and  the  warmth  was  slumber- 
ous. He  felt  himself  transported  to  his  blessed 
motherland  in  the  South. 

91 


92  A  Life  at  Stake 

He  started  at  the  familiar  sound  of  an  explosion, 
followed  by  silence.  Was  it  an  illusion?  He 
waited,  quite  ready  to  laugh  at  himself.  Sud- 
denly there  was  another,  already  near — one  it 
was  impossible  not  to  recognise!  A  bomb!  And 
a  light  had  burst  high  over  a  group  of  houses.  He 
strained  his  ears — engines  were  humming  in  the 
sky. 

He  thought  wildly  of  going  out;  but  his  heart 
shrank  when  a  mournful  wail  came  to  him  from 
Dunkerque.  That,  one  knew  at  once,  was  the 
big  fog-siren — in  the  country  they  called  it  "the 
cow";  and  promptly,  that  of  the  spinning-mill 
roared  out  thrice.  It  had  not  finished  when  it 
was  echoed  in  the  distance  by  the  sharp  whistle 
of  Coudekerque-Branche,  and  the  rising  scream 
of  La  Tour — a  fierce  affecting  concert  of  tocsin 
voices  in  the  night. 

The  thought  of  Andree  had  just  flashed  into 
Jean's  mind — he  would  take  shelter,  for  her  sake. 
But  some  one  knocked  hastily  on  his  door — ' '  Mon- 
sieur Darboise !" 

His  neighbours'  voices!  He  opened  the  door. 
The  old  lady  was  already  tumbling  down  the  first 
of  the  cellar  steps,  dragging  the  little  boy  after 
her.  The  young  woman,  who  held  the  other  child 
in  her  arms,  called  to  him:  "There  are  several  of 
them;  quick — come  down." 

"I'll  follow  you." 

She  had  made  a  detour  to  warn  him.  A  sort  of 
shame  prevented  them  both  from  running.  He 


An  Air  Raid  93 

looked  up  as  they  crossed  the  little  yard,  and 
had  the  impression  that  the  aeroplanes  were  pass- 
ing directly  over  his  head.  He  quickened  his 
steps — the  whistle  of  a  falling  bomb  was  per- 
ceptible. As  he  reached  the  steps,  he  reeled,  and 
the  walls  shook  around  him.  Quite  close — in  the 
street — that  one!  The  thunderclap  was  followed 
by  a  long  rattling  crash  of  broken  bricks. 

' '  Monsieur  Darboise ! ' ' 

He  went  down  on  the  heels  of  his  neighbours. 
Madame  Trousselier  had  lighted  a  candle,  and  the 
child  was  clinging  to  her  skirts  in  terror.  The 
other  baby  was  crying,  and  the  young  woman  was 
trying  to  comfort  it. 

Jean  felt  himself  drawn  near  to  these  beings  who 
slept  under  the  same  roof  as  himself,  exposed  to 
the  same  dangers.  To  break  the  anxious  silence, 
he  spoke:  "It  was  just  the  right  weather  for 
Taubes!" 

"I  expected  it,"  said  the  old  woman,  "after 
that  one  that  came  reconnoitring  at  noon  today. 
That  such  horrors  should  be  permitted!"  She 
added  in  a  hollow  voice:  "And  after  what  our 
men  see!" 

"Is  your  husband  yonder?"  said  Jean,  turning 
to  the  daughter-in-law. 

She  made  a  sign  of  assent,  and  her  eyes  glittered 
in  the  candlelight. 

"Hush!  It's  not  over  yet!"  Another  explo- 
sion, again  in  the  vicinity.  They  stared  at  each 
other.  Shadows  and  emotions  gave  a  tragic  look 


94  A  Life  at  Stake 

to  their  faces.  The  sirens  were  howling  again, 
like  ships  in  distress.  A  calm  seemed  to  follow- — 
was  it  the  end?  The  infant  was  filling  the  cellar 
with  his  wails. 

"He's  hungry,"  said  the  grandmother;  "let 
him  drink." 

At  this  the  young  woman  showed  signs  of 
modest  hesitation.  Discreetly,  Jean  turned 
away,  for  which  she  thanked  him  with  a  slight 
bow. 

The  old  woman  brought  him  a  chair.  "Sit 
down,  Monsieur  Darboise." 

It  was  several  minutes  since  the  last  bomb  ex- 
ploded. Other  detonations,  not  so  loud,  followed. 
These  were  the  sounds  of  guns. 

"It's  no  joke,  their  coming  now,"  Madame 
Trousselier  went  on,  "with  all  those  troops  here, 
eh?" 

"What  troops?" 

Didn't  he  know?  Two  infantry  regiments, 
some  Belgians,  and  some  Fusiliers,  all  the  reserves 
of  one  sector  of  the  line  arrived  for  rest  at  St.  Pol, 
that  very  morning.  And  the  filthy  Boches  knew 
it  well! 

"I  think  we  can  go  and  have  a  look,  "  said  Jean. 

The  guns  were  silent.  But  one  of  the  sirens 
again  wailed  its  four  sinister  crescendos. 

' '  Don't  go  out ! "  the  young  woman  said,  hastily. 

"Pooh!  What's  this,  compared  with  Douau- 
mont?" 

"Were  you  there?" 


An  Air  Raid  95 

"It  was  there  that  I  got  my  wound." 

The  old  woman  intervened:  "My  son — he 
wasn't  far  from  there,  then!" 

' '  Really  ?     What  regiment  ? ' ' 

"First  Engineers." 

From  pure  courtesy,  Jean  asked  a  few  detailed 
questions,  though  slightly  embarrassed  to  detect, 
at  least  on  the  young  woman's  part,  a  certain 
reserve. 

The  danger  appeared  to  be  passing  away.  He 
went  out  again  in  spite  of  entreaties,  and  just  in 
time,  as  he  reached  the  threshold ,  to  hear  a  familiar 
rending  sound,  followed  by  the  rush  of  the  gapers 
who  had  ventured  out  of  doors.  At  the  end  of  the 
street,  three  hundred  yards  away,  a  huge  jet  of 
flame  leaped  up  in  a  thunderous  roar,  and  he  saw 
the  roof  of  a  house  lifted  like  a  saucepan  lid. 

Another  bomb.  He  retraced  his  steps  into  the 
yard.  Over  his  head  there  was  the  drone  of 
suspicious  engines.  Searchlights  were  sweeping 
the  sky,  where  their  shafts  seemed  to  dissolve. 
Lightnings  aimed  at  the  ground  now  and  again 
flashed  from  the  sky — the  searching  of  enemy  eyes, 
like  the  gleaming  eyes  of  eagles;  and  in  the  seconds 
that  followed,  it  was  rarely  that  the  bursting  of 
an  infernal  machine  did  not  set  one  trembling. 

It  was  no  use  swaggering.  He  went  down  again 
to  the  cellar.  The  baby  had  had  his  meal  and 
fallen  asleep. 

Some  minutes  went  by.  Madame  Trousselier 
led  the  conversation  back  to  her  son,  and  Jean's 


96  A  Life  at  Stake 

curiosity  was  aroused  to  notice  what  an  uncon- 
cerned air  the  young  woman  affected  every  time 
he  was  mentioned. 

He  pretended  to  be  interested:  "When  is  he 
coming  home  on  furlough?" 

"It's  not  regular, "  said  the  old  lady. 

"Well,  there's  a  regular  turn " 

Madame Trousselier  hesitated,  and  her  daughter- 
in-law  intervened  sharply:  "We  don't  want  him 
on  leave  again!" 

Regardless  of  her  mother-in-law's  distressful 
winks,  the  young  woman  unloaded  her  heart: 
"Why?  No  need  to  make  any  mystery  of  it — all 
the  neighbourhood  knows ! " 

She  told  of  the  bad  habits  the  man  had  fallen 
into  just  before  the  war,  the  way  he  started 
going  downhill,  and,  since  then — what  a  collapse! 
Think  of  it,  that  life  of  a  beast,  too,  living  in 
holes,  summer  and  winter.  He  had  come  home 
for  Easter.  Ah,  those  seven  days!  And  the 
worst  of  it  was  the  end.  After  being  continuously 
drunk  for  seventy-two  hours,  he  had  gone  to  bed 
just  when  he  ought  to  have  been  setting  off,  swear- 
ing that  his  mind  was  made  up,  and  he  would  not 
go  back.  The  police  could  come  and  get  him. 
He  was  fed  up  with  the  job!  What  was  waiting 
for  him?  Court-martial?  Better  a  dozen  bullets 
in  the  body  than  this  everlasting  martyrdom, 
your  only  prospect  to  go  "over  the  top  "  when  your 
turn  came !  It  had  been  a  frightful  night,  and  the 
two  women  had  gone  down  on  their  knees  to  beg 


An  Air  Raid  97 

him  to  go.  But,  sucking  at  a  pint  of  rum,  he  got 
more  passionate  as  his  default  increased. 

"In  the  end,  then,  he  went  back?" 

"Yes,  two  days  late." 

"Did  they  punish  him?" 

"Two  months'  imprisonment,  and  his  next  leave 
will  be  put  back  three  months." 

When  her  daughter-in-law  had  finished,  Madame 
Trousselier,  in  a  tone  that  trembled  with  bitter- 
ness, asked :  ' '  Does  that  help  you  to  get  over  it  ? " 

"Is  it  all  true,  or  isn't  it? " 

Jean  broke  in  by  declaring,  "Madame,  your 
daughter — knew  that  I  was  a  friend."  He  felt 
that  he  had  a  sort  of  mission  to  fulfil  in  the  matter 
of  these  two  women.  He  counselled  patience — 
the  war  would  come  to  an  end:  "Let  him  get 
over  it  and  take  up  his  work  again — you'll  lead 
him  into  good  ways  again." 

He  looked  at  the  young  woman — "You  will 
become  happy  again." 

"You  can't  think  how  happy  we  were!" 

Finally,  the  alarm  being  over,  Jean  bade  his 
neighbours  good -night.  Not  feeling  sleepy,  he 
wandered  about  in  the  neighbourhood,  where  a 
hastily  dressed  crowd  soon  came  thronging,  more 
in  curiosity  than  fright.  The  names  of  victims 
were  exchanged — the  little  tailor,  for  instance,  at 
the  corner  of  the  street,  pulped  by  the  bomb  that 
blew  off  the  roof  of  his  house.  Some  who  had 
narrowly  escaped  were  congratulating  each  other. 
Others  talked  of  the  luck  of  the  draper's  wife,  who 


98  A  Life  at  Stake 

had  just  jumped  out  of  bed  when  the  breech  of 
a  75mm.  shell  went  through  it.  Some  discussed 
the  probable  number  of  enemy  aeroplanes.  They 
were  of  one  mind  in  blaming  our  gunners,  and  our 
aviators.  Nobody  was  at  his  post  at  first.  The 
pilots  all  lodged  at  Malo,  three  miles  from  the 
camp.  At  least  ten  minutes  had  gone  by  when 
they  were  seen  rushing  along  on  their  bouncing 
cars. 

Jean  went  on  as  far  as  the  quarters.  Most  of 
the  men  were  up  and  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  gaz- 
ing at  the  pale  sky.  The  school  had  seemed  to 
be  marked ;  four  bombs  had  fallen  near  it,  and  all 
round  it.  The  cellars,  too,  were  not  in  the  least 
reliable,  and  the  key  of  the  only  vaulted  cellar  was 
missing.  Sergeant  Gandolphe,  fortunately,  who 
was  on  duty,  had  got  out  of  the  difficulty  by  burst- 
ing the  door  open. 

"It  wouldn't  surprise  me  if  they  came  back!" 
the  chief  announced. 

At  a  little  after  midnight,  Jean  was  gradually 
falling  asleep  when  he  awoke  with  a  sudden  start, 
and  sat  up  stupidly.  The  siren!  Yes,  the  wail 
was  again  rending  the  placid  night.  Then  in 
successive  crashes  two  bombs  announced  their 
close  arrival.  Then  the  horrible  smashing  uproar 
of  a  third,  and  the  windows  in  his  room  fell  in 
pieces.  He  was  out  of  bed  with  a  jump,  and  as  he 
slipped  on  his  pants  he  had  a  paralysing  vision 
of  the  shattered  tailor.  To  the  sound  of  another 
and  nearer  explosion  he  threw  himself  into  the 


An  Air  Raid  99 

passage,  obliquely  lighted  by  the  moon.  There, 
he  thought  of  his  neighbours.  Downstairs  they 
came  running.  The  old  woman  passed  in  front  of 
him,  leading  little  Desire.  There  was  the  sound 
of  a  fall  on  the  staircase,  and  a  slight  groan.  He 
ran  forward  and  up  several  steps.  Moonlight  was 
coming  in  through  a  shattered  window,  and  a 
baby  was  crying  lustily.  Jean  saw  that  the 
young  woman  had  fallen,  and  in  trying  not  to  hurt 
the  child,  had  twisted  her  foot.  She  was  making 
an  effort  to  get  up. 

"Give  me  the  baby!"  He  took  it  from  her 
into  his  arms — a  living  toy,  fragile  as  his  own. 
With  the  help  of  her  hands  she  half  rose,  and  then 
stammered — "A  sprain!  Or  the  leg — broken — 
I  don't  know." 

A  whistling  sound  was  followed  by  a  flash  that 
lit  up  the  ground  floor.  Through  a  window  they 
saw  a  wall  at  the  end  of  the  garden  collapse  as 
though  shaken  by  earthquake,  and  a  pungent 
smoke  blew  in. 

"Oh,  la,  la!  Worse  than  Douaumont!"  Jean 
said  jokingly,  still  master  of  himself. 

"The  baby!"  she  implored. 

"Wait!"  Carrying  the  child,  who  was  startled 
out  of  his  complaints,  Jean  lightly  descended  the 
steps,  crossed  the  yard,  and  reached  the  cellar 
door.  Down  below  he  quickly  put  his  burden 
into  the  grandmother's  arms,  as  she  struggled 
with  a  box  of  matches.  The  old  woman  grasped 
his  arm — ' '  Germaine  ? ' ' 


ioo  A  Life  at  Stake 

"An  accident — she's  hurt  her  foot;  I'm  going  to 
fetch  her." 

"Shall  you  want — "  The  foundations  shook 
in  an  explosion.  From  the  street  sounded  dismal 
cries  and  sounds  of  panic.  Madame  Trousselier 
was  trembling :  ' '  Stay  there ! "  he  said. 

With  redoubled  energy  he  quickly  climbed  the 
stairs.  In  his  absence  the  young  woman  had 
succeeded  in  getting  into  a  sitting  position,  and  as 
he  came  up,  she  made  another  attempt  to  rise — 
and  gave  a  groan.  He  bent  over  her — "Allow 
me,  I'm  going  to  carry  you." 

"Where  are  the  children?" 

"In  shelter." 

"Thanks." 

He  stooped  lower,  to  find  a  sure  hold.  She 
made  no  sign  to  forbid  him.  He  inhaled  the 
scent  of  her  loosened  hair.  ' '  Allow  me,  allow  me, ' ' 
he  said,  though  there  was  no  reason  to. 

His  weak  left  arm,  half  crippled  as  it  was, 
encircled  her  waist — "Don't  be  afraid!" 

With  a  harsh  effort,  he  lifted  her.  Not  so  heavy ! 
Step  by  step,  he  went  down.  He  held  her  closely, 
and  she  him,  their  faces  and  their  breasts  close 
together,  their  breath  mingled.  They  passed  the 
landing,  the  yard,  the  passage. 

"Are  you  all  right  ? "  he  said,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

His  pulse  was  beating  madly.  Here  was  the 
cellar  stair  now.  They  were  guided  by  the  flicker 
of  a  match  that  the  old  lady  had  just  struck,  but 
a  draught  blew  it  out  just  as  they  reached  the 


An  Air  Raid  101 

bottom.  Jean  had  been  able  to  note  where  a  chair 
stood,  and  he  steered  for  it.  Delaying,  in  spite  of 
himself,  the  end  of  that  embrace,  he  was  going  to 
put  his  burden  down,  when  he  felt  a  convulsive, 
half -unconscious  pressure,  and  knew  that  she  was 
preventing  him.  He  kissed  her  neck,  and  then 
their  lips  met. 


PART   II 


103 


BOOK  IV 
CHAPTER  I 

A   CONCESSION 

WHO,  in  those  days,  could  carry  out  his  least 
desire  ? 

For  the  rapacious  Boches  attacked  furiously. 
A  third  time  that  same  night,  twice  the  next  day, 
then  again  at  midnight,  they  came  back;  and  the 
following  Sunday,  a  squadron  of  thirty  Taubes 
rushed  their  droning  engines  over  and  attacked 
for  two  hours  in  groups  of  four,  obeying  the  order 
of  a  machine-gun. 

Never  since  the  bombardment  with  heavy 
shells  of  a  year  before  had  the  place  suffered  so 
much.  Truth  to  tell,  most  of  the  cellars  offered 
protection  enough.  The  people  who  lost  their 
lives,  principally  at  St.  Pol,  owed  it  almost  ex- 
clusively to  their  own  rashness ;  for  instance,  the  two 
workmen,  fathers  of  five  children,  disembowelled 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Republique  by  a  bomb  of  which  a 
fragment,  ricochetting  off  the  pavement,  broke 
an  urchin's  skull  more  than  two  hundred  yards 
away. 

At  the  Port  there  were  many  victims.  The 
105 


106  A  Life  at  Stake 

civilian  dockers  stayed  away  from  work,  but  for 
the  soldiers  there  was  no  leave  of  absence;  and 
even  in  twenty  months  there  had  been  no  time 
to  construct  shelters  for  them.  It  was  certainly 
nothing  but  luck  on  the  last  day,  that  the  two 
hundred  men,  gathered  in  the  mess-room  at  midday 
under  a  frail  roof,  were  not  blown  to  pieces,  as 
they  might  have  been  by  a  well-placed  bomb. 
Two  bombs  fell  hard  by,  on  the  Textile  itself. 
One  of  them  by  falling  among  sacks  of  oats  had 
its  destructiveness  nullified;  the  other  turned  in- 
side out  the  sentry  at  the  entrance.  In  front  of 
the  wool  hangar,  three  men  and  six  horses  were 
killed  at  one  blow,  in  a  paved  corner  where  a 
pool  of  blood  lingered,  and  then  a  stain. 

One  hundred  and  ten  dead,  three  hundred  and 
seventy  wounded,  such  was  the  return  for  that 
week-end.  "No  victims,  little  damage,"  the 
official  report  announced. 

Jean  lived  through  those  days  in  a  sort  of  sensu- 
ous intoxication.  To  and  from  his  room  in  the 
cellar  he  went  and  came  continuously.  Danger 
stimulated  him.  Having  taken  in  hand  "the 
organisation  of  that  sector"  as  he  said,  he  insisted, 
at  the  beginning  of  the  second  day,  on  his  neigh- 
bours' installing  themselves  in  the  cellar.  He  did 
the  removing  for  them.  After  which,  their  en- 
treaties decided  him  in  his  turn  to  desert  his 
ground  floor.  A  corner  of  the  cellar  was  assigned 
to  him.  ' '  Every  one  at  home ! ' '  His  gaiety  scat- 
tered the  terror  in  abeyance. 


A  Concession  107 

The  young  woman's  sprain  left  her  hardly  able 
to  drag  herself  from  her  bed  as  far  as  an  arm- 
chair. Jean  had  some  notion  of  massage,  picked 
up  in  the  realms  of  sport;  and  half  playfully,  half 
in  earnest,  he  assumed  the  part  of  amateur  bone- 
setter.  And  all  they  asked  for  was  to  rely  on 
him.  Morning  and  night  he  insisted  that  the 
ailing  foot  should  be  entrusted  to  him. 

Then  he  would  take  in  his  hand,  with  childish 
compassion,  the  slender  ankle  in  which  he  thought 
some  ligament  must  have  given  way.  The  pre- 
liminary handling  was  light  but  masterly.  Then 
with  his  supple,  sensitive  fingers,  he  slowly  and 
gently  massaged  the  injured  muscles. 

It  was  on  a  Monday  evening,  at  last,  that 
Germaine  called  him  as  he  came  in,  and  whispered 
that  her  mother-in-law  had  just  gone  out  with  the 
little  one — an  errand  to  the  other  end  of  the  town ; 
and  the  demon  of  possession  seized  upon  Jean. 


Life  had  resumed  its  normal  course.  For  a 
while  the  Trousseliers  continued  to  live  in  the  cel- 
lar after  Jean  had  returned  to  his  own  room.  In 
the  evening  he  used  to  go  down  for  a  little  chat, 
and  conscientiously  fulfilled  his  duties  as  masseur. 

The  ankle  was  getting  better.  One  morning 
when  Jean,  off  duty,  had  stayed  in  bed,  there  came 
a  knock  at  the  door.  Germaine ! 

Far  more  than  compromising  herself  she  seemed 
to  fear  being  thought  importunate.  As  she  came 


io8  A  Life  at  Stake 

in,  she  always  put  the  question :  "I'm  not  disturb- 
ing you?" 

One  rainy  afternoon,  Darboise  offered  to  draw 
her  portrait.  She  sat  for  him,  and  was  struck 
with  astonishment  at  the  pencil  sketch  he  made 
of  her  in  an  hour.  It  was  a  successful  drawing; 
the  three-quarters  length  of  the  figure  happily 
displayed  his  model's  special  charm,  which  lay  in 
the  pure  outlines  of  her  shoulders  and  neck.  Yet 
Jean  found  himself  embarrassed  when  she  asked 
him  to  write  a  dedication  on  it — for  her  alone! 
She  would  not  show  the  drawing  to  any  living 
soul ! 

He  had  given  her  full  warning  that  he  would 
never  write  her  a  line — a  matter  of  prudence! 
Byway  of  getting  round  it,  he  traced,  "To  my  dear 
little  Germaine,"  in  microscopical  letters  which 
lost  themselves  in  the  corsage. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  put  your  name?" 

"Why,  yes — look."  His  initials  only,  a  J  and 
a  D,  very  tiny.  This  was  the  utmost  possible 
concession,  and  would  hardly  compromise  him. 
All  the  same,  he  thought  remorsefully  of  that 
sketch  of  Andree  Sartiagues  in  her  garden  hat — 
Andree,  his  betrothed  of  that  day — which,  in 
playfulness  or  modesty,  he  had  signed  in  the 
same  way. 


CHAPTER  II 

A   COSTLY   LIE 

OH,  the  fantastic  heart  of  men!  Towards  her 
to  whom  he  was  unfaithful,  his  affection  had  not 
changed.  He  wrote  to  her  every  day;  in  the 
letters  which  he  received  from  her,  he  delighted 
as  always.  Seized  sometimes  with  confusion, 
when  he  thought  of  the  contemptuousness  of  his 
conduct,  his  indolence  rejected  that  plea  of  un- 
pleasant recoil  upon  himself. 

The  lie  he  was  acting  cost  him  dear.  When 
after  several  weeks  his  wife's  letter  hinted  again 
at  their  approaching  reunion,  he  answered  in 
intentionally  evasive  terms.  Difficulties  were 
cropping  up;  there  were  new  regulations,  and 
more  severe.  He  had  come  to  wonder  if  that 
journey,  of  which  they  both  were  dreaming, — 
but  he  pretended  to  see  the  light  of  a  sure  re- 
venge when  his  own  leave  came  round,  and  at 
the  very  worst,  it  was  not  more  than  two  months 
off. 

Two  months!  The  tone  of  Andree's  reply 
resounded  cruelly  in  his  heart.  Two  months? 
Could  she  live  so  long? 

109 


i  io  A  Life  at  Stake 

"Ah,  my  love,"  she  wrote,  "if  you  knew  how 
sad  and  dark  a  thing  life  is  when  I  am  away  from 
you — quite  not  worth  living.  Those  whom  I  love 
the  most  after  you,  how  little  they  are  to  me  in  the 
main ! ' '  She  acknowledged  that  from  time  to  time 
she  had  to  suffer  the  reproaches  of  her  mother,  who 
rebelled,  as  all  mothers  do,  against  that  exclusive 
attachment. 

A  madness  of  regret  seized  her  for  that  post- 
poned visit  which,  according  to  himself,  would 
have  been  so  easily  managed;  she  was  ready  to 
curse  the  child's  illness.  And  if  she  had  only 
known,  she  would  have  left  the  baby  in  her  mother's 
care  and  risked  everything  rather  than  be  deprived 
of  that  priceless  consolation. 

Once,  a  shade  of  bitterness  appeared :  "  I  should 
be  wrong,  dearest,  shouldn't  I,  to  believe  that  you 
were  more  content  than  I  with  your  part  in  this 
great  sadness  ?" 

Then,  immediately  regaining  her  confidence — 
"But  we  mustn't  drive  away  hope  altogether, 
must  we?  Stir  about,  and  find  a  way.  Is  there 
only  that  Sergeant  Lavigne?" 

She  suggested  his  going  to  look  up  the  d'Estig- 
nards  again.  With  their  influence — and  as  long 
as  they  showed  themselves  so  obliging! 

Jean  was  irresolute.  How  much  he  had  longed 
for  that  visit,  of  which  only  the  distant  view 
showed  to  his  soul  wide  vistas  of  golden  felicity! 
Only  the  night  before  his  mistress  had,  with  her 
tiresome  trifling,  rekindled  in  him  the  desire  for 


A  Costly  Lie  m 

intellectual  intimacy,  which  the  sentimental  fellow 
fancied  with  one  being  only. 

But  to  risk  an  exposure!  No;  he  did  not  really 
fear  any  act  of  ill  conduct  on  Germaine's  part.  Too 
freely  she  denied  that  she  was  jealous,  and  even 
interested  herself — Oh,  paradox! — in  Andree,  ask- 
ing for  news  of  the  little  invalid.  The  most  formid- 
able aspect  of  the  matter,  Darboise  felt,  was  his 
wife's  incredible  gift  of  introspection.  Let  the 
least  sign  put  her  on  the  track,  she  would  go  through 
to  the  end.  And  the  consequences,  with  her  de- 
voted disposition,  would  be  a  scandal,  a  tragedy! 
He  must  do  all  to  avoid  that,  all  that  would 
imperil  the  dear  conjugal  structure  in  which  his 
life's  happiness  was  locked  up. 

His  reply  did  not  contain  anything  that  would 
relieve  the  anguished  heart  yonder,  and  his  heart 
was  heavy  with  the  knowledge.  The  advice  con- 
cerning the  d'Estignards  worried  him.  He  had 
to  invent  the  falsehood  that  he  had  been  there 
twice  without  finding  them  in,  that  he  had  left 
his  card,  and  was  waiting  for  them  to  write,  but 
nothing  had  come.  Recently,  in  the  town,  he  had 
met  Monsieur  d'Estignard,  who  had  taken  his  leave 
almost  immediately  with  a  sufficiently  curt  "Au 
revoir."  Jean  concluded  from  that  coldness  not 
to  set  foot  inside  the  villa  again. 

His  employment  had  not  changed.  He  was  an 
old  member  now  of  the  potato  fatigue,  in  which 
he  spent  nine  hours  a  day ! 

For  a  little  while  now  their  party  had  been  under 


ii2  A  Life  at  Stake 

closer  surveillance.  The  sergeant  or  the  adjutant 
would  come  and  throw  some  contemptuous  remarks 
at  them  as  soon  as  they  heard  laughter  or  even  chat- 
ter. At  once  the  men's  temper  had  altered.  Some 
got  themselves  put  on  the  sick  list ;  others  began  to 
"ca'  canny."  Recent  consignments  of  potatoes, 
too,  were  sticky  and  rotten  to  the  core.  So,  as 
the  men  no  longer  troubled  to  use  the  cleaning- 
knives  thoroughly,  the  heap  of  debris  mounted 
high,  became  enormous.  They  saved  scarcely  thirty 
pounds  out  of  two  hundred.  Remarks  were  made; 
and  one  afternoon  the  adjutant  arrived,  accom- 
panied by  Deludat.  When  he  ascertained  the  ex- 
tent of  the  waste,  the  lieutenant  lost  his  temper 
and  uttered  threats.  The  other,  frightened,  made 
a  statement  against  Sergeant  Depussay,  that  he 
did  not  look  after  his  men — was  he  seen  there  one 
hour  a  day?  There  was  quite  a  disturbance, 
but  Fauvel,  since  Depussay  was  his  friend,  cut 
it  short  at  headquarters.  The  sergeant  felt  him- 
self threatened — "Ah,  you'll  get  me  jawed,  will 
you!" 

Becoming  very  assiduous  for  three  days,  he  dis- 
tributed C.  B.  broadcast  and  at  random.  Naturally 
it  fell  on  innocent  men,  on  little  Navarro,  for  ex- 
ample, who  wept  over  it.  "Military  justice!" 
chaffed  Decante. 

The  latter  and  Jean  were  spared.  Depussay 
had  scented  in  Darboise  a  chap  who  could  defend 
himself.  The  former  plate-layer  he  treated  gently 
in  return  for  certain  services  rendered. 


A  Costly  Lie  113 

The  sergeant  soon  relaxed  his  vigilance  again 
and  returned  to  his  former  vagaries.  He  came 
morning  and  evening,  turning  up  unexpectedly; 
and  without  considering  any  excuse  he  punished 
those  whom  he  surprised  chatting  or  doing  no- 
thing, or  the  one  whose  heap  stood  for  the  least 
work  done. 

Jean  hated  him  cordially,  and  Decante  Jesuit  - 
ically  encouraged  the  sentiment,  for  the  latter  had 
arranged  with  the  sergeant  to  screen  his  absence 
as  occasion  arose,  and  yet  performed  this  duty 
badly,  even  trying  in  an  underhand  way  to  get 
him  into  trouble.  The  duplicity  ruffled  Jean* ' '  Pro- 
mise him  nothing,  if  you  dislike  him!" 

"Everything's  all  right  against  those  vermin!" 

Since  they  were  reduced  to  talking  in  low  voices, 
Darboise  came  again  under  his  neighbour's  influ- 
ence. Decante  had  resumed  his  pet  subject.  He 
increased  his  sarcasm  against  the  absurdities  of  the 
regime  to  which  they  were  submitting:  no  one 
where  he  ought  to  be,  pilferings,  despotism,  in- 
competence! The  bungling  and  squandering  of 
that  senseless  government!  In  a  leisure  moment 
he  took  his  companion  to  see  the  hundred  thou- 
sand sacks  that  had  just  been  allowed  to  rot 
where  they  lay,  for  want  of  a  fatigue  party  of 
thirty  men  to  carry  them  away  to  dry!  Sacks 
that  were  worth  one  franc  sixty-five  centimes 
each !  He  pointed  out  the  hole  made  in  the  roof 
of  the  Textile  by  one  of  the  bombs  of  May  2ist, 
and  asked  whose  inspiration  it  was  to  put  a  delivery 


1 14  A  Life  at  Stake 

of  sugar  right  under  the  hole.  A  night  of  heavy 
rain  had  done  it  no  good ! 

These  discoveries  no  longer  slid  indifferently 
from  Darboise's  mind.  His  attention  was  aroused, 
his  critical  mind  chafed.  Besides — and  the  other 
laid  subtle  emphasis  on  the  point' — the  same 
unreasonable  trickery  of  which  they  had  such  har- 
rowing examples,  wasn't  it  seen  again  all  through 
the  general  management  of  military  operations 
among  the  Allies  ?  It  was  to  their  lack  of  organ- 
isation that  one  must  attribute  the  fact,  alas,  that 
the  success  of  their  arms,  instead  of  reaching  its 
zenith,  seemed  to  be  declining. 

Decante  sounded  his  companion : ' '  This  war,  now, 
between  ourselves,  who  is  there  that  isn't  fed  up 
with  it- — except  the  profiteers?" 

With  those  he  cynically  included  the  rulers 
of  both  sides — "those  who  held  the  handle 
of  the  frying-pan,  and  whose  present  life  for  a 
certainty,  with  its  conferences  and  banquets,  was 
a  good  deal  more  attractive  than  their  tasks 
after  the  war,  when  multitudes  would  call  them  to 
account.  It  was  only  among  those  blackguards 
and  their  tools  on  the  big  newspapers  that  despi- 
cably excited  public  opinion,  that  one  still  found 
people  mad  enough  to  talk  out  loud  about  crushing 
the  enemy!" 

"Which  has  hardly  got  started  yet!" 

June  was  coming.  The  frightful  contest  around 
that  fortress  of  Lorraine  had  become  doubly 
fierce.  The  fort  of  Vaux  had  fallen.  A  German 


A  Costly  Lie  115 

advance  had  been  going  on  irresistibly  for  several 
days:  "We've  swanked  enough!  They'll  end,  I 
tell  you,  by  taking  Verdun ! ' ' 

This  made  Jean  clench  his  fists.  Would  they  al- 
low Verdun  to  fall,  that  Verdun  which  they  thought 
they  had  saved,  for  which  a  hundred  thousand  of 
them  had  given  their  lives  or  shed  their  blood? 
What  good  had  they  done,  then  ?  Bitter  vexation 
took  possession  of  him  at  the  thought  of  heroes  be- 
trayed, and  of  great  leaders  unworthy  of  those  who 
had  given  themselves  for  sacrifice.  Thus  was  his 
morale  undermined ;  would  it  suddenly  give  way  ? 

For  counterpoise  to  this  pessimism,  Jean  no 
longer  had  Cazenave's  playful  prankishness. 
Obliged  as  he  was  to  devote  himself  in  the  evening 
to  his  coaxing  mistress,  he  had  had  to  drop  the 
Bordelais  almost  completely.  In  shame  he  re- 
frained from  revealing  to  his  friend  his  real  reason 
— a  discretion  which  was  of  no  avail. 

Towards  ten  o'clock  one  night,  there  came  a 
knocking  on  the  shutter  :  "Alarm,  old  chap!" 

Cazenave  turned  the  handle  of  the  door,  seeking 
to  enter,  but  it  was  bolted:  "Have  you  locked 
yourself  in?" 

Jean,  annoyed  by  the  other's  want  of  ceremony 
• — he  was  now  shaking  the  door — called  out: 
"What  is  it  you  want ? " 

' '  My  cartridge-pouches. ' ' 

Then  Darboise  remembered  he  had  borrowed 
them  for  a  kit-inspection:  "That's  all  right — 
I'll  bring  them  to  you." 


1 16  A  Life  at  Stake 

"I'm  not  fooling' — let  me  in ! " 

He  waited  for  a  few  seconds.  The  devil  take 
the  intruder!  Then  suddenly  Cazenave  appeared 
to  grasp  the  situation — "Ah,  old  chap,  I  beg  your 
pardon ! ' ' 

Jean  was  a  good  last  to  muster,  arriving  as  the 
company  got  into  motion.  He  had  been  declared 
absent  after  two  calls.  After  a  furious  rating 
from  his  corporal  he  thought  it  was  done  with; 
but  Bousquet,  sergeant  of  his  section,  sent  him 
to  the  lieutenant. 

Jean  had  little  fear  of  that.  Fauvel!  Only 
the  night  before  last  they  had  discussed  for  an 
hour  the  talent  of  Claude  Boucheron,  whom  the 
former  traveller  in  lace  disparaged,  though  he 
hardly  knew  him. 

"Here  I  am,  lieutenant,"  said  Darboise,  coming 
up,  rifle  on  shoulder. 

"Very  annoying,  my  boy!"  said  the  other, 
with  a  formal  air:  "For  the  sake  of  example, 
I've  been  obliged  to  give  you  four  days  in  the 
guard-room." 

Jean's  throat  tightened :     ' '  Seriously  ? ' ' 

"What  do  you  mean- — 'seriously'?  Haven't 
you  deserved  it  ? " 

"I'm  not  complaining,"  said  Darboise. 

"And  you  can  thank  me  for  not  speaking  to 
the  captain." 

"Very  well,  I  thank  you,  lieutenant." 

With  flushed  cheeks,  humiliated,  and  whistling 
to  disguise  his  anger,  Jean  regained  the  ranks. 


A  Costly  Lie  117 

The  column  turned  to  the  right  in  the  Avenue  de 
la  Mer.  As  they  went  along  the  road,  Jean 
nursed  his  wrath.  Punished- — for  being  so  little 
behind  time!  And  by  that  Fauvel  whom  he 
had  nearly  taken  for  a  friend.  He  cursed  him — 
the  treacherous  fellow !  Swinging  his  heavy  knap- 
sack, and  checking  the  rifle  that  was  slipping  off 
in  the  absence  of  a  shoulder-strap,  he  wondered 
gloomily  what  the  alarm  meant — was  it  into  real 
danger  they  were  being  led  ? 

They  went  nearly  two  miles,  and  then  entered 
by  a  drawbridge  that  "Western  Defence"  of 
which  they  had  to  occupy  a  bastion.  Their  part 
was  to  oppose  a  possible  landing.  Decante  was  not 
slow  to  emphasise  the  thanklessness  of  the  task; 
what  good  were  they  doing,  decorating  that 
parapet  before  it  was  necessary  ?  What  protection 
was  there  for  them,  if  the  matter  was  really  serious, 
against  the  shells  that  the  German  ironclads 
would  pour  on  them  from  four  different  directions  ? 
Their  place  was  in  the  casemates.  But  were 
there  any  casemates  ? 

Fortunately  the  end  of  the  alarm  was  telephoned 
towards  midnight.  Just  as  they  were  starting 
back,  Jean  was  approached  by  Cazenave,  who  was 
pushing  his  bicycle:  "Is  it  true  that  that  brute 
of  a  Fauvel's  given  you  four  days'  clink? " 

"I  shall  get  my  own  back!" 

"You  might  try,  through  the  adjutant — — " 

"No,"  Darboise  refused,  in  no  humour  to  ask 
favours  of  any  one. 


ii8  A  Life  at  Stake 

"Look!"  Monade  himself  was  coming  up. 
Sounded  by  Cazenave,  he  seemed  disposed  to 
nothing  so  little  as  to  intercede:  "Hum!  The 
lieutenant,  you  see!  I  only  meddle  with  what 
concerns  me." 

But  when  the  Bordelais  winked  and  whispered, 
"Poor  Darboise!"  Monade  slapped  himself  on 
the  thigh,  and  becoming  at  once  gentle  and  even 
cordial,  he  said:  "I'll  speak  to  the  lieutenant!" 

And  indeed,  Fauvel  sent  for  Darboise:  "I 
gave  you  a  fright,  then ! " 

"Lieutenant?" 

"Why,  yes — your  four  days'  guard-room.  Do 
you  think — it  wasn't  a  joke?  I  may  chew  the 
rag  a  bit,  but  I'm  not  a  professional  soldier,  and 
I  don't  do  those  dirty  tricks " 

Stupefied,  Jean  could  only  believe  him. 

"Indeed,  it  wasn't  worth  while  to  send  the 
adjutant  to  me, "  Fauvel  ended  with  a  show  of 
magnanimity.  He  kept  Darboise  with  him  to 
talk  art  as  far  as  the  quarters,  but  Jean  trembled 
like  a  skittish  thoroughbred,  for  he  had  felt  the 
whip. 

In  other  respects,  the  incident  did  not  pass  with- 
out annoying  consequences.  It  was  said  in  his 
section  that  he  had  been  shown  clemency  only 
on  account  of  his  hitherto  stainless  squad-book. 
Valentin,  his  corporal,  had  taken  a  dislike  to  him 
for  some  time  as  the  only  man  in  the  squad  who 
did  not  sleep  at  the  quarters,  so  that  he  had  to 
run  after  him  with  his  pay,  his  supplies,  his  to- 


A  Costly  Lie  119 

bacco.  "You  wait  till  I  report  you!"  he  yelped 
in  his  shrill  falsetto. 

The  threat  was  always  formidable.  With  such 
puppets  commanding,  could  one  ever  know  how 
things  would  turn  out? 

For  some  days  past,  Jean  had  recruited  a  new 
companion.  Mascart  had  written  to  him:  "I 
have  a  little  friend  at  Dunkerque,  and  he's  bored. 
Go  and  look  him  up."  He  was  a  comical  being 
at  first  sight,  this  Vechaud.  In  civil  life  he  was 
clerk  of  the  sub-prefecture  of  Mortagne,  of  which 
Mascart  was  tax-collector.  Now  he  was  doing 
duty  as  secretary  at  the  office  of  the  cold-storage 
department  popularly  known  as  the  "Frigori- 
fique,"  where  he  had  been  for  eighteen  months. 
He  had  no  idea  of  quitting  it,  but  was  rather  tired 
of  the  exclusive  society  of  butchers'  assistants. 

Darboise  thought  him  plainly  insignificant,  and 
paid  him  another  call  a  week  later  only  for  con- 
science' sake.  But  when  he  appeared,  Vechaud's 
face  lighted  up :  "I  was  so  much  afraid  I  shouldn't 
see  you  again." 

Appreciative  of  the  proffered  friendship,  Jean 
went  again,  and  often  thereafter. 


CHAPTER  III 

A   CONTRADICTORY   SITUATION 

Two  lots  of  bad  news  fell  on  him,  blow  by  blow. 
The  first  came  in  a  letter  which  bore  the  imprint 
of  a  hospital.  From  some  one  wounded  ?  Hastily 
he  tore  it  open — a  note  for  him  written  by  a  nurse, 
"by  request  of  Monsieur  Boucheron." 

He?  He?  Jean's  heart  sank;  the  great  Claude 
Boucheron  whom  he  had  believed  to  be  finally 
out  of  harm's  way!  A  few  lines  only,  without 
details — a  shell  fragment  in  the  thigh — a  serious 
wound,  but  not  one  that  seemed  to  endanger  his 
life. 

"Ah,  that  crowns  all!"  Darboise  recalled  his 
distress  when,  as  he  left  home  at  the  end  of  August, 
1914,  he  heard  that  his  wonderful  master  was  in  the 
front  line  in  the  horrible  struggles  in  the  North. 
He  had  been  indignant  ever  since.  Was  it  a  wise 
use  of  one's  resources  at  the  very  outset  to  risk 
the  life  of  this  man  forty  years  old,  already  a 
famous  artist,  whose  talent  was  an  established 
thing? 

Jean  hastened  to  send  a  note  to  the  obliging 
nurse.  Thanking  her,  he  told  her  what  man  she 

I2O 


A  Contradictory  Situation      121 

had  in  her  care,  and  would  she  be  so  good  as  to 
let  him  know  in  a  little  while  that  all  was  going  on 
well? 

The  letter  that  came  next  day  bore  the  heading 
of  the  Quotidien — Chinard's  answer,  that  he  had 
so  long  expected!  It  was  curious  that  Darboise 
had  a  foreboding  of  evil  as  soon  as  he  took  the 
letter  in  his  hand. 

It  was  a  short  letter — a  page  and  a  half  of  the 
familiar  flowing  hand:  "Poor  old  chap,"  it  be- 
gan; "it's  always  unpleasant  to  have  such  a  duty 
to  fulfil,  but  to  be  entirely  candid- " 

There !  His  drawings  did  not  give  satisfaction. 
Oh,  that  was  not  his  opinion,  but  that  of  the 
proprietor  himself,  and  it  did  not  seem  likely  that 
he  would  alter  it.  What  did  Letourneur  object 
to  ?  Why,  a  generally  defective  attitude,  a  lack  of 
tact,  even  of  decency.  Was  he  ridiculing  people? 
Who  were  these  taskmasters  he  had  sketched, 
these  brutes  with  many  stripes,  exactly  compar- 
able to  the  series  of  "Heads  of  Boches"  that  an- 
other paper  had  issued?  Were  those  our  officers? 
Were  those  fair  samples  of  these  auxiliaries  whom 
one  made  fun  of  for  their  amiable  insouciance,  for 
their  refined  fancies?  What  a  scandal  such  a 
publication  would  have  brought  on  the  paper? 
Fine  advertisement,  that,  for  the  French  soldier! 

Chinard  wound  up  by  adding:  "Knowing 
you,  I  am  well  aware  that  you  have  insisted  on 
sincerity,  but  that's  not  what  was  wanted  from 
you." 


122  A  Life  at  Stake 

Jean  crumpled  the  letter  in  his  fingers.  The 
blow  was  a  severe  one.  Fortunately,  his  artist's 
mind  poured  over  him  that  placidity  which 
sincere  creative  genius  knows.  He  had  no  fear 
at  all  that  he  had  been  mistaken.  He  recalled 
the  whole  series  of  views  of  stirring  life;  Claude 
Boucheron  had  liked  them,  and  that  was  apprecia- 
tion enough.  Wiping  away  some  traces  of  per- 
spiration with  the  back  of  his  hand,  he  murmured, 
"The  idiots!" 

What  he  felt  was  anger.  So  Letourneur  really 
rebuked  him  for  sincerity!  Ah,  this  hatred  of 
truth,  this  conventionality  and  make-believe,  the 
plagues  of  that  mournful  age!  Lies  and  sophisti- 
cation everywhere,  in  art  as  in  politics;  and  they 
who  would  raise  their  heads  to  tell  the  truth, 
always  suppressed.  These  war-profiteers,  these 
manipulators  of  shady  business,  these  directors 
of  disreputable  papers — yes,  it  was  just  their  game 
to  prevent  people  from  seeing  clearly,  to  prevent 
them  from  having  portraits  put  before  them  of 
the  bestiality  of  their  tyrannized  brothers ! 

He  would  make  no  attempt  to  get  himself  taken 
on  again.  He  would  leave  all  those  people  to 
wallow  in  their  filth  and  stupidity.  He  dreamed 
of  further  revengeful  work.  But  then,  now  that 
success  was  discounted,  there  disappeared  his  last 
hope  of  returning  to  Paris,  of  escaping  from  the 
atmosphere  that  he  began  to  find  stifling.  And 
in  the  vanity  of  his  twenty-five  years  he  asked 
why  he  should  not  confess  to  himself  that  a  little 


A  Contradictory  Situation      123 

glory  would  have  tickled  his  fancy,  had  he  been 
able  to  see  his  signature  in  the  columns  of  a  great 
daily ! 

He  tried  to  master  his  feelings,  and  succeeded. 
Let  it  be  so!  It  can't  be  helped!  At  bottom, 
what  most  irritated  him  was  Chinard's  attitude, 
the  vaguely  superior  tone  of  his  letter,  the  way  in 
which  his  friend  forbore  to  declare  himself. 

Jean's  imagination  went  further.  No ;  Chinard 
could  hardly  have  stood  up  for  him — Chinard, 
who  had  so  often  been  glad  to  thank  him  for  favours 
of  the  highest  sort.  And  when  it  would  have 
been  so  easy  for  him,  well  placed  in  the  firm  as  he 
was,  he  whose  assent  would  assuredly  have  influ- 
enced Paulette's.  Darboise  remembered  how 
he  had  always,  for  hi's  part,  helped  his  best 
friends  and  pushed  them  forward,  and  this  one 
more  than  any  other,  finding  him  useful  backers 
and  acquaintances,  and  introducing  him  to 
Claude  Boucheron.  Only  recently  Jean  had  re- 
joiced in  the  other's  success  as  if  it  had  been 
his  own. 

It  scared  Jean  to  have  a  presentiment  of  secrets 
that  his  generosity  had  not  suspected  at  all,  and 
this  gave  rise  to  vapours  of  egotism,  perhaps  of 
jealousy.  He  recoiled  from  them.  What,  could 
Chinard  be  changed  by  success  into  a  fool,  like  so 
many  others,  drunk  with  a  facile  renown,  that  he 
should  turn  the  light  on  to  so  wretched  a  side  of 
him?  He  could  hardly  bear  the  thought;  and  it 
was  really  with  the  idea  of  destroying  it  that  he 


124  A  Life  at  Stake 

seized  paper  and  pen.  The  retort  gushed  from 
him  all  at  once. 

He  began  with  a  confession,  superb  in  its  im- 
pudence, of  his  confidence  in  his  talent,  to  which 
he  had  never  given  better  expression  than  in  these 
pencil  drawings,  even  if  they  had  not  had  the  luck 
to  please.  Then  he  put  in  a  cruel  but  just  word 
with  regard  to  Letourneur.  He  bowed  to  the 
decision.  He  thanked  Chinard — if  he  had  done 
all  he  could.  But  he  was  anxious  to  have  his 
own  opinion — which  Chinard  had  not  given  him. 
Was  it  an  oversight?  Where  had  the  memory 
gone  of  their  brotherly  discussions?  In  his  desire 
to  see  that  time  born  again,  in  the  fear  that  a 
chasm  would  open  between  them  unless  they  took 
care,  Jean  took  the  liberty  in  all  sincerity  of  being 
the  first  to  speak.  Well,  he  wanted  to  shout  at 
him :  ' '  Mind  where  you're  going ! ' ' 

Darboise  honestly  believed  that  he  was  acting 
like  a  true  friend.  He  warned  him  of  the  clear 
impression  he  had  had  for  a  little  while  that 
Chinard,  by  reason  of  deception,  of  making  con- 
cessions and  doing  pretty  tricks  so  as  to  keep  the 
public  favour,  was  on  the  way  to  spoil  himself. 
His  last  sketches,  in  Monday's  Quotidien  were 
rather  forced,  affected,  unnatural ! 

"Success,  old  man,  you  have  got;  and  no  one 
wants  it  for  you  more  than  I  do.  But  you  were 
worthy  of  reaching  a  higher  standard.  Return  to 
nature,  I  implore  you;  get  clear  of  fashionable 
smartness.  Let's  have  men,  not  marionettes; 


A  Contradictory  Situation      125 

women,    not    dummies.     We've   had    enough   of 
Kirchner,  by  God!" 

Jean  read  the  letter  again,  and  hesitated.  Too 
little  considerate,  perhaps?  But  had  they  con- 
sidered him?  Why,  he  was  candid,  just  candid; 
a  guiding  principle  of  conduct  which  he  liked  and 
had  chosen  in  his  career.  It  was  meant  to  make 
his  friend  reflect.  They  had  said  many  such 
things  to  each  other  formerly,  with  pitched  battles 
sometimes,  from  which  they  emerged  better  friends. 
Come,  then;  if  the  other  was  angry,  he  was  no 
longer  his  Chinard!  But  no;  he  would  not  be 
angry! 


For  some  time  past  the  attitude  of  the  old  lady, 
Madame  Trousselier,  had  made  him  thoughtful. 
At  first  it  was  she  who  had  looked  after  his  room, 
while  relations  of  friendly  familiarity  between 
them  dated  from  the  days  of  the  bombardment. 

Germaine,  recovered  from  her  sprain,  had 
claimed  the  domestic  duty  on  the  pretext  of  reliev- 
ing her  mother-in-law's  rheumatism.  From  time 
to  time  Darboise  went  up  to  the  first  floor,  an- 
nouncing that  he  had  come  for  a  chat.  On  two 
such  occasions,  the  old  lady  had  gone  early  to  bed, 
giving  no  reason.  A  third  time,  when  he  ven- 
tured on  a  chairing  protest,  she  answered  him 
coolly  and  with  rather  a  sullen  look,  so  that  he 
told  his  fears  to  Germaine  at  once. 

She  reassured  him :     "It's  because  she's  in  pain, 


i26  A  Life  at  Stake 

darling,  that  she  looked  at  you  like  that.  And 
then,  anyhow,  she  doesn't  care  a  rap!" 

"What  if  she  writes  to  your  husband?" 

"She  wouldn't  do  that;  and  even  then " 

"Well?" 

"I  think  I'm  the  only  one  that  runs  a  risk." 

"Ah,  excuse  me!"  Jean  rebelled.  "Don't  you 
see  he  might  slip  away  from  over  there  and  come 
to  shoot  at  us?" 

"  Not  at  you;  at  me  perhaps " 

"Do  you  think  I  should  let  him?" 

"Pooh!  If  he  killed  the  kiddies  at  the  same 
time,  what  should  I  care?" 

He  rebuked  her,  suddenly  disconcerted  by  fancies 
which  seemed  to  spring  from  the  depths  of  dis- 
consolate sorrow. 

It  was  notable  that  Germaine  did  not  affect  the 
melancholy,  misunderstood  individual.  Her  face, 
bearing,  and  chatter  all  bespoke  a  childish  light- 
heartedness,  ready  to  be  amused  by  anything. 
She  was  a  little  mystified  at  first  by  Jean's  caustic 
chaff  or  ironical  gravity,  but  had  got  used  to  it 
quicker  than  he  had  looked  for;  and  now  she 
laughed  beforehand  at  the  drolleries  he  retailed  in 
his  most  serious  tones.  So  he  let  himself  go  all 
the  more  in  that  direction,  delighted  to  discover, 
in  his  turn,  a  sort  of  roguishness  in  her.  No  fool, 
that  little  woman — and  to  think  in  what  different 
surroundings  she  had  been  brought  up !  Flattered 
in  his  self- vanity,  he  acted  the  indulgent  pasha. 

From  time  to  time,  their  talk  tended  towards 


A  Contradictory  Situation      127 

more  intimate  confidences,  but  it  was  not  Dar- 
boise's  wish.  It  was  she  who,  as  she  became  more 
familiar,  evinced  a  curiosity  which  betokened 
true  friendship.  One  subject  attracted  her  espe- 
cially— "Do  tell  me  something — about  your  wife, 
and  your  home." 

He  avoided  the  question,  but  she  insisted: 
"How  do  you  get  on  together?  What  is  she  like? 
She's  called  Andree,  isn't  she?  Tell  me  if  she's 
tall  or  short,  dark  or  fair  ? " 

She  besought  him  for  a  long  time  to  show  her 
his  wife's  photograph.  When  he  refused  she  showed 
a  very  unusual  sulkiness.  At  last,  in  sheer  weari- 
ness, he  gave  way:  "My  word!  How  pretty  she 
is!  What  a  stylish  woman !"  she  exclaimed,  and 
then  added:  "She  must  have  been  thinking  of 
you  while  she  was  being  taken.  You  can  see  it 
in  her  eyes,  how  much  she  loves  you.  She  does 
love  you,  eh?" 

"Yes,  certainly,  she  loves  me." 

"And  what  about  the  little  one?" 

Without  further  pressure,  Jean  drew  the  other 
photo  from  his  pocket-book.  Delicate  retouching 
had  glorified  the  innocent  gaze  with  an  angelic 
expression.  The  dimples  in  the  little  naked  body 
seemed  made  for  kissing.  Germaine  was  en- 
raptured'— "Not  a  year  old?  How  strong  and 
fine  he  is!"  And  looking  at  him  tenderly,  she 
said:  "Nothing  surprising  in  that — seeing  that 
he  is  the  child  of  you  two!" 

"All  children  are  beautiful." 


128  A  Life  at  Stake 

"  More  or  less !" 

In  the  short  silence  that  followed,  both  were 
thinking  of  Germaine's  second  baby,  little  Gabriel, 
whose  dull  eyes,  defective  ears  and  belated  develop- 
ment pointed  to  the  guilt  of  the  drunken  parent. 

Such  conversations  as  this  were  renewed,  and 
Jean  ended  by  taking  his  part  in  them  with  a 
smile.  What  feeling  was  influencing  Germaine? 
Whatever  it  was,  they  came  almost  every  evening 
to  talking  of  the  far-off  home  and  the  loved  ones 
in  its  shelter.  And  Jean's  blind  folly  was  not 
far  from  believing  that  this  homage  went  a  little 
way  towards  atoning  for  his  betrayal. 

One  evening  when  he  returned  depressed  from 
the  Textile,- — where  great  and  dreaded  changes 
were  rumoured, — anxious  at  the  absence  of  news 
of  Claude  Boucheron,  wondering  if  he  had  done 
wrong  to  write  harshly  to  Chinard,  and  feeling 
more  bitterly  than  ever  the  absence  of  Andree, 
who  alone  could  have  lightened  the  burden  of  his 
cares,  Germaine  came  and  sat  down  by  him; 

"My  poor  old  friend  is  looking  miserable!" 

He  denied  it.  She  insisted:  "I  can  feel  it;  I 
know  you ,  too !  You're  moping ! ' ' 

"No,  I'm  not!" 

"Yes,  yes,  you  are!"  She  added,  coaxingly,  in 
a  very  low  voice:  "Tell  me — why' — don't  you 
get  her  to  come?" 

He  started,  as  though  the  sore  spot  in  his  heart 
had  been  nipped :  ' '  Who  ? ' ' 

"Your  wife." 


A  Contradictory  Situation     129 

"Ah,  I  shouldn't  think  of  it!" 

"And  why?" 

"Impossible,  to  begin  with;  it's  forbidden!" 

"Bah!  There  are  plenty  of  soldiers  here  like 
you  who  don't  worry  about  that ! " 

She  went  on  to  details:  "Look,  there's  Depus- 
say,  your  sergeant.  Well,  his  wife  spent  a  whole 
fortnight  here  last  month.  And  your  lieutenant, 
he's  just  had  his  for  a  long  time." 

' '  How  well  informed  you  are ! ' ' 

Germaine  pressed  the  matter  no  further  that 
evening  after  this  last  reflection' — "Your  poor 
wife!  How  she  must  worry  in  secret  away  from 
you!" 

Jean's  troubled  thought  was:  "She's  anything 
but  commonplace,  Germaine!" 

The  following  evenings,  Germaine  abstained 
from  direct  reference  to  the  question,  but  she 
dexterously  turned  the  conversation  on  Andree. 
Suddenly  she  even  entreated  him  to  show  her  a 
letter  from  Andree.  He  was  shocked:  "You're 
thoughtless!"  he  said. 

She  made  excuses,  confessing  her  ingenuous  long- 
ing just  to  see  what  pretty  names  she  called  him. 

' '  What  can  that  matter  to  you  ? "  he  said. 

"Or  to  you?  What  nice  things  do  you  write  to 
her?" 

He  was  still  firm  and  chilling.  She  went  on: 
"You  must  write  to  her  about  coming.  She 
must  be  happy."  After  a  second's  interruption 
she  said:  "/  love  her  because  you  love  her.  I 


130  A  Life  at  Stake 

love  everybody  and  everything  that  you  love,  do 
you  see?" 

It  was  said  so  simply  and  so  innocently  that  he 
was  deeply  affected. 

After  two  more  days,  Germaine  unmasked  her 
guns.  Andrew's  coming  was  the  sovereign  remedy, 
and  she  almost  seemed  to  credit  it  with  the  virtue 
of  a  charm.  Why,  there  must  be  ways  of  getting 
over  the  difficulties,  since  others  had  done  it! 
She  mentioned  Hirschfeld,  assistant  baggage- 
master,  who  had  just  rented  a  room  for  his  wife 
in  the  Rue  Gambetta. 

Jean  no  longer  protested  absolutely  against  it. 
Besides,  he  had  lately  seen  Lavigne,  who  had 
renewed  his  offer  of  assistance.  And  the  real 
entreaties  which  covered  Andree's  letters  reverted 
to  his  mind — he  must  go  and  see  the  d'Estignards 
again !  Who  knows  that  he  was  not  mistaken  in 
their  attitude? 

Germaine  returned  to  the  charge:  "It  would 
be  so  jolly  for  you,  in  these  two  big  rooms!" 

"Ah,  not  here,  in  any  case!" 

Germaine  raised  her  timidly  imploring  eyes  to 
his :  "I  would  look  after  you  both. ' ' 

Suddenly  unnerved,  he  cried:  "You're  dream- 
ing!" and  she  was  silent.  A  minute  later  she 
went  on  in  a  subdued  voice:  "And  the  little  one 
— would  she  bring  him,  do  you  think?" 

' '  Never  in  this  world !    What  an  idea ! ' ' 

"Why  not?" 


A  Contradictory  Situation      131 

"A  child  of  one  year,  who's  just  been  ill " 

"They  say  that  a  change  of  air's  good  when 
they've  just  had  whooping-cough. "  But,  in  fear 
of  offending  him,  and  anxious  to  make  concessions, 
she  said:  "Ah,  well!  You'd  be  removing.  More's 
the  pity!" 

"That  would  be  quite  necessary." 

"/  would  find  you  what  you  wanted — "  She 
read  his  thoughts.  "No,  not  about  here;  at  the 
other  end  of  St.  Pol." 

In  spite  of  himself,  Jean  was  thrilled  with  the 
distant  possibility.  "But,  in  that  case,  you 
wouldn't  see  her!"  he  said  chaffingly,  "you  who 
wanted  to  so  much!" 

"Some  day — when  she  had  to  go  out — I  should 
go  and  stroll  in  front  of  your  gate " 

"And  afterwards — I  should  come  back  here, 
perhaps?" 

"As  you  pleased!"  It  was  always  "as  you 
pleased!"  with  her.  He  began  to  find  himself 
curiously  perplexed.  How  should  he  decide? 
How  many  reasons  there  were  for,  and  how  many 
against  it !  A  contradictory  situation !  What  was 
this  feeling  of  Germaine's  for  him?  Was  it  con- 
siderate friendship  or  the  meekest  of  love?  And 
what  about  himself?  Would  he  like  her  less  or 
more  for  this  self-denial — or  this  slavishness? 
The  one  thing  certain  was  that  in  the  first  pro- 
longed break  in  their  talk,  it  was  towards  the 
other  woman,  towards  his  wife,  that  his  hesitating 
heart  leaped. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A    GOOD  FRIEND 

DARBOISE  found  himself  on  "concert  fatigue." 
It  often  happened,  on  Saturdays,  that  the  de- 
tachment received  a  certain  number  of  invita- 
tions to  some  performance  at  Malo,  in  which  case 
the  sergeant-major  appointed  some  men  to  go, 
without  consulting  them. 

I  There  were  six  of  them  that  day,  in  charge  of 
Gandolphe,  who,  being  extremely  fond  of  music, 
generally  managed  not  to  miss  these  concerts. 
Jean  hardly  knew  the  sergeant,  except  as  a  non- 
com,  who  did  not  give  the  company  much  trouble, 
in  which  indeed  he  had  only  figured  for  a  few 
weeks.  A  professor,  he  had  heard.  His  physical 
appearance — eyeglass,  disagreeable  features,  and  a 
rather  awkward  walk — had  nothing  very  attrac- 
tive about  it.  In  the  tramcar,  however,  when 
Gandolphe  made  him  some  advances,  Jean  met 
them  readily. 

The  festivity  was  taking  place  at  the  Casino, 
already  filled  by  a  many-coloured  crowd.  Our 
friends  settled  themselves  as  well  as  they  could 
in  the  gallery. 

132 


A  Good  Friend  133 

After  two  orchestral  items,  brilliantly  common- 
place, some  extemporised  comedians  came  on  and 
played  Asile  de  Nuit.  Jean  had  the  incomparable 
author  too  visibly  in  his  mind,  and  he  yawned  at 
the  painful  mediocrity  of  the  performance. 

The  tenor  Devrids,  mobilised  at  Dunkerque, 
then  appeared  on  the  platform,  and  sang  a  famous 
page  from  Gluck  in  beautiful  style. 

"Not  bad,  that!"  Darboise  admitted. 

Devrids  was  followed  by  Victor  Staub,  the 
pianist,  also  in  uniform:  "Listen!"  whispered 
Gandolphe. 

The  virtuoso  sat  down,  and  lightly  fingering  the 
keyboard,  at  once  evoked  its  miracles  of  sound. 

It  was  a  Hungarian  rhapsody,  and  Jean  fol- 
lowed the  dazzling  rhythm  in  wonder,  as  in  the 
presence  of  an  acrobat,  but  without  a  suspicion  of 
emotion.  But  when  Staub,  encored,  sent  flick- 
ering round  the  hall  the  airy  melody  of  Chopin's 
Fantaisie,  he  felt  himself  touched  by  its  charm. 
A  jog  from  his  neighbour's  elbow,  Gautier  Charles, 
brought  him  back  to  earth,  and  they  both  smiled 
at  the  sight  of  the  sergeant,  whose  mouth  was 
half-open,  his  eyes  half-closed,  his  face  bathed  in  a 
seraphic  expression  that  clashed  with  his  large 
features  and  badly  placed  beard. 

In  the  intermission,  they  took  a  turn  round  to 
stretch  their  legs.  As  they  went  past  the  stalls, 
Jean  was  surprised  to  hear  himself  called.  He 
blushed  as  he  recognised  Madame  d'Estignard 
and  Sylvaine  offering  him  their  hands  at  the 


134  A  Life  at  Stake 

same  time — "Our  cousin  the  stranger,  such  a 
stranger!" 

The  young  girl  said  to  him  at  once:  "We've 
had  a  letter  from  Andree." 

"Really?" 

"Yes.  She  says  she's  dying  to  see  you.  After 
what  you  told  us,  we  thought  it  could  easily  be 
arranged." 

"Less  easily  now, "  he  stammered. 

"My  husband  is  going  to  make  inquiries," 
Madame  d'Estignard  said:  "I  think  he  may  be 
useful  to  you." 

The  ladies  kept  Jean  back  for  a  minute,  and  he 
had  to  submit  to  friendly  reproaches.  Why  had 
they  not  seen  him  again?  He  blamed  circum- 
stances, and  promised  soon  to  make  amends. 
Again  he  felt  the  sympathetic  attraction  of  their 
company.  In  another  way,  too,  the  meeting  left 
him  under  an  affecting  inspiration — Sylvaine's 
smile,  the  radiance  of  her  colour,  the  soft  light 
in  her  eyes,  all  recalled  the  memory  of  Andree, 
the  memory  and  the  longing.  His  heart  and  his 
senses  were  carried  away  with  an  enthusiasm  which 
bade  fair  to  become  an  obsession.  And  to  think 
that  Monsieur  d'Estignard  himself  was  also  pre- 
pared— Ah,  but  for  his  imbecile  mistake,  his 
schoolboy's  folly!  (Poor  Germaine!  Decidedly, 
she  mattered  little  to  him !) 

Jean  listened  with  listless  ear  to  the  second  part 
of  the  concert.  He  made  only  evasive  answers 
to  the  sergeant  and  his  other  companions  who 


A  Good  Friend  135 

wanted  to  know  to  whom  he  had  been  talking. 
Gandolphe  asked,  in  a  pleasant  way,  his  opinion 
of  the  remaining  items.  But  he  hardly  answered, 
engrossed  with  the  two  solutions  that  faced  him. 
Should  he  send  for  Andr£e  or  not? 

That  evening,  Germaine  mentioned  some  in- 
quiries she  had  begun  on  his  behalf — a  ground 
floor  in  the  Rue  Jules  Ferry,  which  wasn't  dear, 
but  badly  situated.  Though  ready  to  surrender, 
Jean  put  off  his  decision  to  the  following  day. 

But  the  next  day  he  got  a  cold  douche.  Events 
which  had  long  threatened  came  to  pass.  It  was 
announced  at  morning  parade  that  the  "minor 
victuals, "  the  potato,  and  the  coffee  fatigues 
would  shortly  be  discharged,  and  all  the  men  put 
into  the  bake-house,  in  which  one  worked  for 
several  weeks  even  at  night.  The  news  paralysed 
Jean.  Should  he  bring  his  wife  to  St.  Pol  and 
risk  such  possible  complications,  and  yet  have  no 
benefit  of  her  presence?  Truly,  as  long  as  the 
luck  was  against  him 


He  had  just  taken  his  place  in  the  dinner-room, 
before  his  steaming  mess-tin,  between  Decante 
and  Mortas,  when  the  assistant  baggage-master, 
who  always  brought  the  post  about  that  time, 
handed  him,  along  with  a  letter  in  the  familiar 
handwriting,  another  large  envelope  with  a  black 
border. 

How  many  of  these  announcements  had  he  re- 


136  A  Life  at  Stake 

ceived  since  the  beginning  of  this  disastrous  period ! 
Who  was  it?  Who  this  time?  Feverishly  he 
opened  it.  A  mist  seemed  to  enfold  him,  and  the 
name  danced  before  his  eyes 

CLAUDE   BOUCHERON 

Artist 
Knight  of  the  Legion  of  Honour 

He  looked  around  him.  The  corporal  was 
distributing  the  wine.  Decante  was  proffering 
his  cup.  Prestrot  and  Gautier,  already  served, 
were  enjoying  their  first  draught.  What  a  dizzi- 
ness of  solitude  to  see  himself  surrounded  by  these 
dreary-faced  beings,  only  a  few  beaming,  and  those 
only  with  sensuous  satisfaction ! 

Claude  Boucheron !  So  it  was  all  over!  Jean's 
eyes  went  back  to  the  card.  He  had  died  three 
days  before,  Saturday — ah,  the  day  of  the  concert ! 
A  nameless  aversion  surged  up  in  Jean.  He  rose 
without  a  word,  abandoned  the  meal,  and  avoided 
the  stupidly  astonished  looks  of  his  neighbours. 

Oh,  the  inconceivable  cruelty  and  folly  of  this 
war!  Lives  like  his — cut  off!  And  they  could 
not  be  replaced.  Destroyed  for  ever  in  a  moment, 
those  men  of  genius  whom  twenty  centuries  of 
gradual  development  and  the  mysterious  selective 
processes  among  individuals  and  races  had  brought 
out  in  full  blossom,  flowers  all  too  rare  upon  the 
human  dunghill ! 


A  Good  Friend  137 

In  an  animated  hallucination,  Jean  saw  again, 
the  first  work  signed  with  that  name  which  chance 
had  brought  to  his  ken.  He  was  a  youth,  and  it 
was  at  the  autumn  exhibition  at  the  Salon.  He 
had  been  thunderstruck  at  once,  plunged  in  a 
delirium  of  gladness,  as  though  his  own  road  had 
been  made  clear. 

A  panorama  unfolded  itself  before  him — the 
call  that  he  had  dared  to  make  on  the  great  man, 
he  the  lowliest  of  students,  the  very  next  day. 
Claude  Boucheron,  lean  and  nervous,  his  eyes 
searching  him  through  his  glasses,  with  his  sunken 
cheeks  and  enormous  forehead,  so  restless  that  he 
seemed  to  have  quicksilver  in  his  veins,  Claude 
Boucheron  welcomed  him  incredibly,  as  simply 
as  a  younger  brother,  revealing  to  him  that  very 
day  the  treasury  of  his  wonderful  portfolios. 
And  since  then,  the  hours  he  had  spent  in  that 
sixth-floor  studio  of  the  Boulevard  Montparnasse, 
where  his  worshippers,  friends,  and  converts  came 
in  procession,  where  the  great  men  of  foreign  lands 
came  to  do  homage  to  the  young  master!  What 
animated,  even  passionate  discussions  on  nature, 
love,  and  death,  on  matter  and  on  form,  on  art  in 
all  its  aspects,  for  Claude  Boucheron  was  poet, 
musician,  ^painter,  sculptor,  all  rolled  in  one — a 
complete  incarnation  of  all  in  life !  What  amusing 
and  tragic  scenes  he  had  witnessed  there!  There 
was  the  huckster  bundled  to  the  door  by  this 
still  almost  unknown  artist,  who  was  ripening  in 
poverty,  for  having  offered  him  a  large  sum  for  an 


138  A  Life  at  Stake 

etching  on  condition  that  the  plate  was  spoiled 
after  ten  proofs  had  been  pulled — "my  plate,  my 
flesh,  and  my  blood ! ' '  Then,  that  other  day  when 
the  artist  offered  a  splendid  water-colour  to  the 
humble  coal-porter  who  had  gone  into  raptures 
over  it !  Above  all,  Jean  recalled  all  those  master- 
pieces from  which  truth  and  fearlessness  gushed 
forth.  Lost,  the  secret  of  that  lofty  style — the 
quick  lines  of  daring  and  precision  that  no  fumbling 
attempts  could  mend!  In  truth,  the  prince  of 
living  artists  of  his  kind,  the  real  successor  of  the 
supreme  virtuosi  of  the  graver !  And  for  Darboise, 
above  all,  he  was  the  master  under  whose  aegis  he 
had  climbed  the  ladder,  whose  words, ' '  That's  good, 
my  lad,"  would  have  cheered  him,  and  did  cheer 
him,  amidst  the  scorn  of  all  the  world ! 

Jean's  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  he  wiped 
them  furtively  away.  One  thought  only  rose  to 
his  brain  in  his  dejection — their  war  was  too 
hateful ! 

All  this  time  he  had  held  the  other  envelope, 
Andree's,  in  his  hand.  Never  had  he  so  delayed 
opening  one  of  hers.  As  an  inconsolable  disciple 
of  Boucheron,  he  tried  artlessly  and  hard  to 
believe  that,  for  today  at  least,  all  that  Andree 
could  have  to  say  to  him  mattered  little. 

All  the  same,  he  tore  it  open,  and  as  he  read 
the  first  lines  he  murmured : ' '  Well ! — she  knows !" 

Yes;  Andree  had  thought  she  was  bringing  him 
— carefully  and  considerably — the  bad  news  she 
had  gathered  from  an  evening  paper.  "My  poor 


A  Good  Friend  139 

darling, ' '  she  wrote : ' '  I  can  fancy  your  distress  and 
affliction " 

Jean  went  on,  and  his  heart  was  big  with  emo- 
tion, for  the  matter  of  the  great  dead  was  not 
dismissed  in  four  sentences.  With  the  intuition 
of  an  unusually  refined  and  sensitive  nature, 
she  had  devoted  all  her  letter  to  the  subject. 
She  recalled  in  affecting  terms  the  evolution  she 
had  herself  experienced;  how,  as  a  young  bride, 
she  had  been  at  first  surprised  and  even  startled 
to  see  a  certain  daring,  a  certain  deliberate  negli- 
gence in  the  work  before  which  her  husband  had 
bowed  in  worship.  Then,  the  secret  process  had 
reached  completion  as  her  judgment  ripened  and 
her  outlook  grew  wider.  She  had  understood,  and 
not  too  late,  and  had  soon  worshipped  in  her 
turn,  vanquished  by  the  genius  of  the  wonder- 
worker in  lines.  She  had  been  introduced,  too, 
to  the  master,  who  treated  her  as  the  daughter 
of  the  house,  and  called  her  his  "little  queen" 
when  she  handed  fragrant  tea  to  the  illustrious 
guests  he  gathered  round  him. 

It  was  a  personal  feeling  that  Andree  was 
expressing  upon  this  bereavement.  ' '  One  of  the 
great  calamities  of  the  war, "  she  did  not  fear  to 
write.  Jean  breathed  hard  as  he  read  the  words 
which  might  have  come  from  his  own  pen.  Ah, 
truly  she  was  his  only  other  self,  his  incomparable 
partner ! 

He  had  come  to  a  stop  in  the  central  bay  of  the 
Textile.  Adjutant  Morinet,  of  the  stores  depot, 


140  A  Life  at  Stake 

fifteen  yards  away,  shouted  to  him:  "Hey,  you! 
If  I  catch  you  washing  your  mess-tin  in  my 
buckets!" 

Jean  cleared  off, — one  of  those  who  would  never 
understand!  Other  forms  either  hated  or  in- 
different to  him  appeared,  and  he  went  away. 
What  a  stifling  place  was  that,  where  one  was 
not  even  free  to  mourn  over  the  dead ! 

The  prospect  of  the  long  afternoon  to  be  spent 
in  cleaning  and  paring  potatoes  was  painful  to 
him.  He  looked  up  Dulac,  sergeant  on  duty 
for  the  day,  and  on  the  excuse  of  a  severe  sick- 
headache,  asked  to  be  let  off.  The  other  dared 
not  refuse  him  and  sent  him  back  to  St.  Pol  in 
charge  of  Corporal  Valentin. 

A  disillusioned  ambulance  man,  to  whom  he 
applied,  gave  him  a  tablet  of  aspirin.  He  took 
refuge  at  once  in  his  room,  where  Germaine,  hear- 
ing him,  soon  sought  him  anxiously. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

He  handed  her  the  card.  When  she  had  read 
it,  she  asked  timidly:  "Was  he  a  relative  of 
yours?" 

"  More  than  that;  a  friend  who — 

She  was  looking  at  him.  He  recoiled  from  the 
distress  of  explaining  all  that  this  master  stood  for 
to  him,  and  simply  repeated,  "a  good  friend." 

He  felt  an  imperative  need  of  silence  and  peace. 
To  get  rid  of  her  also  he  pleaded  the  headache — 
a  convenient  excuse,  which  was  successful. 

"Go  to  sleep,  my  poor  darling." 


A  Good  Friend  14 l 

There,  with  open  eyes  fixed  on  the  ceiling,  he 
reflected  long  in  the  half-light.  Reflect?  It  was 
all  considered  and  all  was  urging  him.  A  bom- 
bardment of  Hondschoote  the  night  before,  only  a 
little  way  off,  had  caused  many  victims.  Perhaps 
his  own  life  was  measured.  So  much  the  worse, 
then,  for  paltry  prudence.  She  should  come,  and 
come  quickly,  Andree,  the  only  one  born  to  under- 
stand him!  To  see  her  again,  and  weep  in  her 
arms ! 

At  five  o'clock  he  jumped  up,  went  out,  and 
took  a  tramcar.  At  the  end  of  the  day  he  was 
always  sure  to  find  Lavigne  in  the  Cafe  Terminus, 
opposite  the  station,  sipping  a  liqueur.  He  went 
and  asked  for  another  permit. 


BOOK  V 

CHAPTER  I 

ANDR£E'S  ARRIVAL 

ALL  had  gone  off  as  well  as  possible  at  the  station. 
The  detective,  having  been  informed  beforehand 
by  Lavigne,  cast  a  complaisant  glance  on  the  paper 
that  Andree  presented.  And  now,  on  the  platform 
of  the  crowded  tramcar  which  bore  them  away, 
standing  and  pressed  close  together,  they  pre- 
tended not  to  know  each  other,  but  the  looks  they 
exchanged  glistened  with  love  restrained. 

At  the  Mardyck  Gate,  the  Customs  men  gave 
the  passengers  a  look  of  formal  inquisitiveness. 
The  bell  rang,  and  the  tram  moved  out  between 
the  colourless  dunes. 

Entering  St.  Pol,  Jean  jumped  off,  having  cau- 
tiously made  a  sign  to  Andree.  She  got  down  also, 
burdened  by  her  heavy  bag.  He  waited  for  her 
twenty  yards  away,  pretending  to  be  absorbed  in 
the  contemplation  of  a  poster.  She  toiled  to  come 
up  with  him,  and  was  a  little  hurt  that  he  did  not 
come  to  relieve  her.  But  he  apologised : — 

"They  were  watching  me — there  was  someone 
142 


Andree's  Arrival  143 

in  the  car."  (The  someone  was  Mademoiselle 
Vandenbucke,  his  ex-landlady,  whose  neighbours 
they  were  becoming  again,  and  who  seemed  to  be 
following  their  manoeuvre  with  hostile  and  sus- 
picious eyes.) 

His  new  landlady,  Madame  Mafranc,  was  wait- 
ing for  them  on  the  doorstep.  She  had  hardly  seen 
Andree  v/hen  she  cried :  ' '  Now  I  understand  why 
Monsieur  was  in  a  hurry ! ' ' 

They  went  along  the  passage,  and  already  Ma- 
dame was  showing  them  into  the  combination  din- 
ing-room and  kitchen,  where  the  lighted  gas  shone 
over  a  table  nicely  laid.  Gleefully  Jean  praised  the 
menu :  cream  of  sorrel  soup,  a  chicken,  just  finished 
roasting,  a  melon  whose  scent  filled  the  room,  fine 
cherries  and  strawberries — for  which  he  had  paid 
dearly. 

Andree  asked  at  once  to  see  their  bedroom. 
Entering  it  before  her,  Jean  began  to  open  the  bag. 
But  she  went  to  the  door,  shut  and  bolted  it; 
then  turning  quickly,  she  held  out  her  arms: 
"Ah,  my  darling,  my  Jean!"  In  a  close  embrace 
they  remained,  kiss  to  kiss.  As  though  bewildered, 
they  were  grasping  again  the  conception  of  super- 
lative love:  "Ah,  I  have  got  you  again!"  and 
she  broke  down. 

After  a  moment  of  rapture,  Jean  was  tormented 
by  remorse.  How  could  he  have  deceived  her  and 
run  the  plain  risk  of  losing  her?  Baffling  human- 
ity! 

Laughing,  she  took  off  her  hat  and  coat:  "You 


144  A  Life  at  Stake 

see,  dear,  how  frightful  I  have  made  myself,  on 
purpose!" 

She  had  on  her  tailor-made  of  the  year  before, 
which  she  had  had  dyed  and  remade  herself  in  the 
fashion — industrious  dressmaker ! 

"Still  much  too  smart  for  this  place!" 

"What  do  the  ladies  of  St.  Pol  look  like,  then  ? " 

"Nothing  startling!" 

Andree  was  now  looking  round  the  room:  "It's 
little,  eh?"  he  said. 

"It's  very  nice. "  It  was  a  scanty  lodging  all  the 
same.  What  with  the  bed,  wash-stand,  dressing- 
table,  and  wardrobe,  there  was  only  just  room 
left  to  move.  Thoughtfully,  she  went  on:  "You 
told  me  you  were  well  off  for  room — in  the  Rue 
Gambetta." 

' '  Yes,  but — my  landladies ! ' ' 

"I  thought  they  were  the  best  women — on 
earth!" 

"There  are  two  of  them.  The  mother  doesn't 
understand  things.  She  would  never  have  toler- 
ated your  staying  there  unless  it  was  authorised 
officially.  There  would  have  been  some  fuss!" 

"Ah,  if  that's  it!" 

"Imagine;  when  I  was  coming  to  the  station  I 
met  her,  the  old  woman.  She's  furious  with  me 
for  leaving  them,  and  demands  another  month's 
rent." 

It  was  true.  Not  without  distress  did  he  recall 
the  brief  scene  when  she  had  called  to  him:  "Hey ! 
Another  new  month's  begun!  And  Germaine, 


Andree's  Arrival  145 

too,  doesn't  want  me  to  let  it  again — she  says 
you're  coming  back.  That  doesn't  suit  me,  that 
way  of  doing — nor  other  things  with  it,  either!" 

' '  Come  to  dinner ! ' '  cried  Andree. 

To  tell  the  truth,  they  both  had  to  exert  them- 
selves to  do  honour  to  the  festivity.  They  had  no 
great  appetite,  and  seemed  tired.  Then,  facing 
each  other,  impatience  overcame  them. 

"Look  prettily  at  me,  dearest, "  she  said. 

"Like  this?" 

"Almost." 

"Not  quite?" 

Suddenly  serious,  she  said:  "It  seems  as  if 
there  was  something  amiss  for  you  or  for  me — 
something  you're  hiding  from  me." 

A  hearty  laugh  reassured  her:  "Perhaps  I'm 
wrong.  But — your  work?  How's  it  going  on 
just  now?" 

"Nothing  very  great.  We're  all  going  to  be 
stuck  into  the  'bake-house'." 

' '  What  time  must  you  be  there  in  the  morning  ? ' ' 

"Six  o'clock." 

"Until?" 

"Six  in  the  evening.  We  shall  only  see  each 
other  at  night." 


Every  day  Darboise  congratulated  himself  that 
he  had  dared  to  send  for  her. 

In  vain  they  all  bewailed  the  regime  of  the ' '  bake- 
house" to  which  they  had  been  assigned  for  duty. 


146  A  Life  at  Stake 

For  Jean,  the  twelve  hours  on  the  quays  or  under 
the  hangars  were  a  nightmare  from  which  the  only 
delivery  lies  in  awaking.  Indeed  he  only  began 
to  live  again  when  once  the  ranks  were  dismissed, 
the  overall,  pouch,  and  helmet  given  up  into  Che- 
villard's  hands,  and  he  was  hastening — he  would 
have  liked  to  run — towards  the  spot  where  she 
was  waiting  for  him. 

Andree  used  to  peep  through  the  window  for 
him,  not  daring  to  open  it,  for  fear  of  the  neigh- 
bours' blabbing.  When  she  ran  to  meet  him  in  the 
passage  and  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  he 
would  laughingly  forbid  her  caresses — "Wait  a 
minute!  Let  me  clean  myself  up!" 

Then  quickly  casting  his  tunic  aside,  he  gleefully 
plunged  his  head  into  the  basin  which  Andree  had 
made  ready  for  him.  "What  a  state  you  are  in, 
my  poor  Jeannot ! ' '  she  exclaimed. 

He  was  almost  always  splashed  with  plaster  and 
powdered  with  oatmeal  or  rice-flour;  and  some- 
times, most  vexatious  of  all,  his  face  and  hands 
would  be  entirely  blackened  with  coal-dust.  On 
those  days,  he  deprived  himself  even  of  the  first 
kiss — "I'm  not  fit  to  touch  with  the  tongs!" 

Afterwards  when  he  was  refreshed,  they  would 
relate  to  each  other  their  doings  of  the  day. 
Andree' s  days  were  mortal  boredom.  With  ex- 
cessive prudence,  she  rarely  risked  going  out, 
knowing  how  illegally  prolonged  her  visit  was ;  for 
the  permit  obtained  from  the  obliging  Lavigne 
was  valid  for  only  thirty-six  hours.  Besides,  the 


Andree's  Arrival  147 

country  around,  glimpsed  on  the  first  day,  had 
disappointed  her.  In  vain  Jean  besought  her  to 
go  for  walks. 

"A  fig  for  your  walks!"  she  replied.  "It's  for 
you  that  I'm  here!" 

He  got  her  some  books  and  waited  for  his  first 
day  of  liberty  that  he  might  take  her  to  the 
d'Estignards. 

In  all  that  he  told  his  wife  of  his  life  at  the  Port, 
Jean  did  not  swerve  from  an  assumed  cheerfulness. 
Only  half  the  men  were  employed  in  the  tents  of 
the  "bakery"  properly  so  called.  The  rest  (and 
Jean  was  one  of  them)  Adjutant  Morinet  the 
dumpy,  with  his  legs  like  coat-sleeves,  handed  over 
in  gangs  of  ten,  twenty,  or  thirty,  to  his  sergeants  of 
the  section,  their  destination  being  the  crushing- 
mill,  the  wood  fatigue,  the  wine  fatigue,  the 
fodder  fatigue,  or  the  coal  fatigue.  The  appoint- 
ments varied  each  day.  A  few  cunning  ones  alone 
had  found  out  "soft  jobs,"  posts  to  which  they 
always  returned  and  where  some  day  perhaps,  by 
the  grace  of  heaven,  they  would  be  pronounced 
"indispensables."  Such  were  Dufour  the  sign 
painter,  whom  they  had  kept  busy  for  months 
touching  up  an  immense  new  board  for  the  front 
of  the  Textile ;  and  big  Geff  roy  at  the  ' '  sackeries ' ' ; 
and  in  the  "bread-loading  fatigue,"  three  chums 
whose  duties  consisted  of  wattling  with  wooden 
laths  the  truck  to  be  loaded  with  loaves.  Jean 
had  been  nominated  at  first  as  ' '  sweeper, ' '  a  job 
equally  choice,  because  if  one  did  a  good  lot  in 


148  A  Life  at  Stake 

the  forenoon  and  after  dinner,  one  had  the  chance 
to  come  to  a  rest  for  most  of  the  afternoon.  He 
excused  himself,  and  had  good  reason  to  regret  it 
today  when,  at  the  crushing-mill,  for  example, 
after  ten  hours  of  emptying  sacks,  his  eyes  streamed 
and  his  throat  burned  as  if  it  had  been  skinned. 

Andree,  still  believing  that  he  was  almost 
always  employed  as  checker  or  marker,  was 
already  becoming  rebellious — "It's  not  the  way  to 
treat  a  man  like  you!" 

If  she  had  known ! 

Religiously  he  kept  her  ignorant  of  the  actual 
causes  of  his  vexation,  for  fear  of  causing  her  con- 
cern and  getting  himself  blamed  for — a  certain 
lack  of  docility.  Had  she  not  approved  to  some 
extent  of  what  he  had  written  to  Chinard? 

"He  might  be  useful,  all  the  same.  You  ought 
to  have  treated  him  carefully!" 

"He's  no  friend,  to  do  what  he  did!" 

"People  are  like  that." 

"Not  always!" 

' '  More  of  your  delusions  ? ' ' 

At  all  times  such  discussions  indicated  their 
contrasting  natures.  He  was  impulsive  and  gener- 
ous, always  inclined  to  believe  well,  always  as- 
tounded in  the  face  of  evil.  She  was  infinitely 
more  mistrustful,  thanks  to  the  harsh  lessons  of 
her  youth.  But  this  time,  Jean  was  tempted  to 
yield  to  pessimism.  "It's  true  that  the  world  is 
tainted!"  he  said. 

His  friends  were  so  much  to  him,  and  he  had 


Andr<§e's  Arrival  H9 

lost  the  best.  Augudres  was  in  danger;  and  now 
Chinard,  one  of  the  last  to  survive.  Chinard,  in 
whose  unlimited  and  devoted  affection  he  had 
always  believed  as  in  his  own !  When  his  wife  had 
accused  Chinard  of  a  certain  secret  stiffness,  how 
often  Jean  had  repeated,  "You  don't  know  him ! " 

So  now,  it  was  she  who  was  right.  ' '  Another  of 
his  delusions,"  yes!  Must  he  then  forego  every 
one  of  the  heart's  warm  impulses  and  banish 
friendship  from  his  life?  Perhaps!  In  that  case, 
chilled  and  embittered,  Jean  swore  to  renounce 
hypocrisy  completely  at  the  same  stroke.  And  to 
begin  with,  when  Andree  advised  him  to  write 
again  to  Chinard,  less  severely,  he  answered  her 
with  a  fierce  non  possum. 


CHAPTER  II 

SECRET   TORMENT 

DARBOISE  had  asked  Monade,  Cazenave,  and 
Lavigne  to  take  coffee  with  them  that  evening. 
Little  Vechaud,  of  the  refrigerator,  also  invited, 
could  not  get  off,  and  excused  himself. 

The  guests  quickly  fell  victims  to  the  pleasing 
charm  of  their  hostess.  Lavigne  offered  to  get  her 
an  indefinite  permit,  in  case  of  possible  trouble. 
Cazenave,  vaguely  abashed,  spoke  little.  It  was 
the  adjutant  who  monopolised  the  conversation 
from  beginning  to  end,  a  pretty  woman  having  the 
gift  of  stimulating  him,  as  ugly  ones  did  elsewhere. 
He  poured  his  nonsense  out  freely,  and  sometimes 
his  sallies  were  on  the  coarse  side.  Andree,  quite 
naturally,  kept  him  or  steered  him  within  the 
bounds  of  permitted  drollery.  At  the  right  mo- 
ment, and  taking  advantage  of  the  influence  she 
was  gaining  over  him,  she  put  a  direct  question  to 
him:  That  "bakery"  fatigue  would  be  the  death 
of  her  husband;  couldn't  they  change  it  for  him? 
She  appealed  to  his  great  influence —  Monade 
put  on  airs  of  importance:  "Nothing  would  seem 
impossible,  dear  madame,  if  it  was  to  give  you 

150 


Secret  Torment  151 

pleasure.  I  have  an  idea —  Old  Lepec  was  going 
away,  and  that  meant  a  place  vacant  in  the  sani- 
tary fatigue  party.  Apparently  Fauvel  would  not 
oppose  it.  "I  should  make  it  a  personal  matter. " 

"And  the  cap  tain?" 

"Papa  Meunier?     What  does  he  count  for!" 

They  sharpened  their  wits  on  the  old  man.  You 
dare  to  take  him  away  from  his  fishing!  As  for 
those  souvenirs  of  cartridges  and  shells,  those 
parcels  of  copper  that  he  went  begging  for  all  over 
the  place  and  adding  to  his  collection,  my  word, 
he  must  be  going  to  sell  them  again ! 

"To  the  Boches!"  Cazenave  interjected,  a  sally 
which  raised  laughter. 

The  adjutant  went  on:  "My  friend  Darboise, 
your  change  happens  in  the  nick  of  time,  because 
very  shortly  the  boys  take  the  night  turn  at  the 
bakery!" 

The  conversation  swung  this  way  and  that. 
They  talked  of  Jean's  home,  newly  established, 
whose  happiness  the  war  had  come  to  disturb,  of 
Jean's  two  campaigns,  and  the  baby  born  in  the 
interval. 

The  jolly  face  of  the  adjutant  turned  again  to 
Andree:  "Surprising!  So  young  as  you  are, 
Madame  Darboise,  and  already  a  mother!  It's 
surprising!" 

He  told  the  story  of  his  own  wife,  whose  first 
child  was  born  less  than  eight  months  after  their 
marriage,  and  who  had  grown  over  twenty  pounds 
fatter  with  each  of  the  three  following  ones. 


152  A  Life  at  Stake 

Andree  handed  benedictine  around — it  was  a 
jolly  evening !  They  lingered,  enjoying  the  sweet- 
ness of  a  home.  Towards  ten  o'clock  the  three 
cronies  took  their  leave,  and  fell  over  each  other 
in  thanks  and  compliments. 

At  quarters  next  day  Monade  pinched  Jean  and 
whispered  to  him:  "This  little  Darboise!  His 
wife  seems  to  be  settling  down  there  for  a  bit ! " 

\ 

Not  once  in  those  ten  days  had  Jean  seen  Ger- 
maine  again.  Even  while  confessing  to  himself 
that  he  did  miss  her  a  little,  he  was  infinitely 
grateful  to  her  for  her  voluntary  self-effacement. 
He  intended  to  give  them  a  passing  call,  and  take 
some  sweets  for  the  little  ones. 

That  evening,  as  he  was  finishing  his  toilet  after 
returning  from  work,  Andree  suddenly  said  to 
him :  ' '  Oh,  guess  whom  I ' ve  met ! ' ' 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"Your  old  landlady." 

' '  Mademoiselle  Vandenbucke  ? " 

"No,  the  last  one." 

' '  There  were  two ;  the  old  one  or  the  young  one  ? " 

"The  young  one." 

"Well!  Where  was  that?"  He  plunged  his 
head  into  the  basin,  a  shiver  running  down  his 
back.  Andree  went  on: 

' '  She  came  for  the  washing.  Madame  Maf ranc 
told  me  it  was  understood  that  you  would  keep 
up  the  custom." 


Secret  Torment  153 

"Yes,  that's  so " 

"But  didn't  you  tell  me,"  Andree  asked, 
' '  that  you'd  fallen  out  ?  I  found  her  very  pleasant, 
on  the  contrary. " 

He  was  wiping  his  face :  "I  was  speaking  of  the 
old  one,  whose  temper — • — " 

"You  were  all  right  with  the  other  one?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  all  right- " 

"  By-the-bye  "• — Andree  got  up — "she's  got  to 
come  back,  the  washing  wasn't  ready  just  then; 
I  must  be  seeing  about  it." 

The  information  had  a  sinister  ring  for  Darboise. 
From  that  moment,  secret  torment  gripped  him. 
In  vain  he  tried,  while  she  emptied  the  linen-basket, 
to  put  her  on  another  scent  by  relating  some  in- 
cident of  the  day.  A  certain  nervousness  was 
apparent  at  the  outset,  and  she  noticed  it:  "Is 
there — have  there  been  any  rows  yonder?" 

"No,  no !  But  the  non-coms.,  they're  so  stupid ! ' ' 

"There  is  something,  then,  really?" 

"Nothing  at  all!"  Weary  of  the  part  he  was 
struggling  to  play,  he  suddenly  feigned  a  headache. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?"  She  hastened  to 
bring  him  a  tablet  and  a  little  water,  which  he 
drank  to  oblige  her.  Changing  the  subject,  he 
acknowledged  a  matter  of  anxiety — the  question 
of  money ;  he  could  see  himself  forced  to  send  word 
to  the  Credit  Lyonnais  to  sell — and  at  what  a  loss ! 
— one  or  two  of  his  shares,  his  last!  If  the  war 
went  on,  how  were  they  going  to  live  next  year? 

His  nerves  were  tense  all  the  while  he  talked,  as 


154  A  Life  at  Stake 

he  listened  for  the  least  sound  outside,  for  at  any 
second  it  might  be — • — 

The  gate  to  the  street  opened.  He  recognised  a 
light  foot-fall,  and  the  rubbing  of  a  basket  against 
the  wall.  At  once  he  complained  that  his  head- 
ache was  much  worse. 

Madame  Mafranc  appeared:  "They've  come 
back  for  the  washing,  madame." 

Andree  showed  her  the  bundle.  "Will  you 
count  it  with  her — close  by  ?  You  can  make  out  a 
little  list.  But  no- —  '  she  changed  her  mind — 
"Let  me  see  her,  so  that  I  can  explain  to  her  about 
the  pleats  in  my  chemisette." 

Darboise  let  her  go.  She  turned  back  and  said : 
"Haven't  you  anything  to  say  to  her?" 

"Pooh!    Why  should  I?" 

But  impelled  by  a  desire  to  put  a  bold  front  on 
it,  he  left  his  armchair  and  followed  her. 

Germaine  was  standing  by  the  door.  She  had 
come  without  her  hat  on  purpose,  in  her  modest 
little  serge  dress.  But  in  natural  coquettishness 
she  had  hung  round  her  neck  a  gold  chain — a 
wedding  present — that  supported  a  slender  Flem- 
ish cross. 

"Well,  Madame  Trousselier ! "  said  Jean,  with 
artificial  jollity,  "how  are  things  going  with  you? " 

"Not  so  badly,  Monsieur  J " 

She  had  nearly  said,  "Monsieur  Jean,"  and 
blushed.  Her  cruel  lover  was  bitterly  angry  with 
her  for  it.  Fortunately,  Andree  broke  in:  "Shall 
we  count  it  together?" 


Secret  Torment  155 

Nimbly  Germaine  dropped  on  one  knee,  opened 
the  bundle  and  began  to  call  the  items,  one  by  one, 
while  Andree,  standing,  wrote  them  in  a  note- 
book. It  was  an  interminable  minute  for  Jean. 
It  hurt  him  to  see  his  friend  in  that  servile  attitude; 
while,  Andr6e,  wrapped  up  in  a  muslin  dressing- 
gown  seemed  of  so  different  a  race !  It  was  over- 
whelmingly obvious  that  one  only  of  those  two 
beings  could  inspire  love  in  a  man  like  himself. 
And  this  wish  dominated  everything  else — that  the 
disaster  had  not  happened ! 

Now  it  was  the  turn  of  Madame  Mafranc  to 
interpose,  busily.  Grateful  to  the  young  woman 
who  had  procured  her  the  windfall  of  a  little  house- 
hold to  harbour,  she  was  very  glad  to  say  a  good 
word  for  her:  "Oh,  Madame  can  be  quite  easy 
about  the  pleats  in  her  chemisette — Madame 
Trousselier  is  very  industrious!"  Then,  wishful 
to  put  right  what  she  feared  was  a  fib, — ' '  Oh,  of 
course,  in  ordinary  times,  she  has  no  need  to 
do  this!" 

Germaine  was  tying  up  the  bundle,  and  put 
it  then  into  her  basket.  Andree  asked  politely: 
"Have  you  any  children,  madame? " 

Germaine  blushed  again  and  seemed  to  be 
about  to  leave  it  to  Jean,  who  answered,  with  a 
forced  smile : ' '  Two  fine  children,  yes. " 

Germaine  grew  suddenly  bolder:  "And  you 
have  one,  I  think,  madame?" 

"Yes,  one." 

"Who— who  has  just  been  ill?" 


156  A  Life  at  Stake 

"Oh,  you  knew?" 

"Is  that  why — you  didn't  bring  him ? " 

"Familiar  too  soon!"  thought  Jean,  with  a  sore 
heart.  He  explained:  "I  used  to  have  a  chat 
with  these  ladies  now  and  then;  they  were  inter- 
ested in  you." 

His  tone,  which  he  tried  to  make  playful, 
sounded  curiously  false.  And  the  situation  be- 
came obscurely  strained — this  man  between  these 
two  women,  both  of  them  young,  both  attractive, 
both  of  them  wrapped  up  in  him.  Without  going 
so  far  as  suspicion,  Andree  felt  something  like 
physical  constraint.  She  looked  at  her  husband 
and  at  the  intruder  in  turn,  without  finding  a  word 
to  say. 

Germaine  stood  there  too,  her  head  slightly 
bowed  in  an  attitude  of  indecision.  It  was 
Madame  Mafranc,  the  only  one  at  her  ease,  who 
"carried  on":  "It  was  nice,  Monsieur  Darboise, 
lodging  with  these  ladies?"  Jean  saw  the  im- 
passe— why,  then,  had  he  left  them? 

"It  was  too  far, "  he  asserted. 

"Certainly,  yes,"  the  landlady  said. 

There  was  a  renewed  silence;  then  in  a  rather 
peremptory  tone,  Jean  said:  "Well,  Madame 
Trousellier,  you  will  remember  me  to  the  little 
ones?" 

Humbly  Germaine  picked  up  her  basket: 
"Thank  you,  Monsieur  Jean.  My  mother-in-law 
told  me  to  give  you — wished  to  be  remembered 
to  you."  She  hesitated;  then  awkwardly  she 


Secret  Torment  15? 

shook  hands  all  round,  and  it  hurt  Jean  almost  to 
the  point  of  crying  out. 

When  she  had  gone,  Darboise  made  a  sign  of 
weariness — "This  headache!  I  can  hardly  stand 
up  for  it." 

"You  must  go  to  bed." 

"After  dinner." 

The  meal  was  a  gloomy  one.  Jean  hardly 
touched  the  fried  soles — a  surprise  for  him.  He 
was  not  in  form,  he  said;  and  he  pretended  that 
the  gaslight  hurt  his  eyes. 

"A  little  fever,  I'm  sure,"  she  said  compas- 
sionately; "you  mustn't  go  out  tomorrow." 

He  shook  his  head — yes,  he  was  forced  to  go. 
For  Monade  knew  she  was  there — "and  he's  al- 
ready chaffing  me  about  you." 

"But  if  the  major  considers  you  ill " 

"I'm  not  anxious  for  him  to  come  here.  " 

When  they  rose  from  the  table,  in  a  motherly 
way  Andree  made  him  undress  and  go  to  bed  at 
once:  "Go  to  sleep,  my  Jean."  Using  a  news- 
paper as  a  lamp-shade,  she  said:  "It  won't 
worry  you  if  I  read  a  little  while?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

She  put  the  paper  down  several  times  to  dab 
his  forehead  with  eau-de-Cologne.  But,  in  no 
way  sleepy,  he  kept  turning  over. 

"You're  restless,  my  poor  ducky!"  She  came 
and  sat  down  by  him  and  put  the  tapering  fingers 
of  her  cool  hands  on  his  forehead.  "That's  doing 
me  good, "  he  murmured.  She  looked  at  him 


158  A  Life  at  Stake 

fondly.  But  it  seemed  as  if  a  mutual  intuition 
had  passed  from  eye  to  eye,  and  just  as  he  felt 
and  feared  it,  she  remarked:  "She's — funny, 
Madame  Trousselier. " 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"Yes.     Is  she  always  like  that?" 

With  a  catch  in  his  throat,  he  ventured :  "What 
is  there  special  about  her?" 

"I  don't  know — she's  just  funny!"  After  a 
silence,  Andree  said  lightly:  "Tell  me — you  didn't 
make  love  to  her? " 

He  smiled — a  shrivelled  smile  that  was  more  like 
a  grin  or  a  gape,  a  resemblance  supported  by  the 
gesture  of  pain  that  went  with  it — ' '  I  feel  bad  in 
my  brain-box,  you  know,  "  he  said. 

"Do  you  swear  you  didn't?" 

"Just  don't  I!" 

"Say,  'I  swear  it.'" 

"I  swear  it!"  He  uttered  the  words  half- 
jokingly,  yet  seeking  to  attain  the  tone  of  vehe- 
ment truthfulness. 

"She  isn't  pretty,"  Andree  went  on. 

This  comment  hurt  him,  but  he  strove  not  to  let 
it  appear.  Lightly  he  replied:  "Oh,  at  St.  Pol, 
she's  one  of  the  best!" 

There  was  nothing  in  Andree's  face  seeming  to 
indicate  that  she  was  taking  the  matter  in  earnest. 
Yet,  a  few  minutes  later,  she  went  up  and  leaned 
over  him — "My  Jeannot,  you  haven't  been  un- 
faithful to  me?" 

He  held  out  both  hands  to  her,  in  a  movement 


Secret  Torment  159 

which  counterfeited  the  ardour  of  an  affectionate 
reproach:  "Andr6e,  don't  say  things  like  that!" 

"Oh,"  she  said,  suddenly  loving,  "your  hands 
are  burning,  my  little  love!"  She  kissed  his  fore- 
head in  caressing  purity.  Jean  congratulated  him- 
self that  she  would  forget,  in  that  gleaned  moment 
of  happiness,  even  the  subject  of  her  fears.  Not 
at  all.  On  the  contrary,  a  secret  trouble  taking 
gradual  shape  in  her  heart,  she  said:  "You  know 
what  I'm  like,  eh?  That  I  could  never  forgive 
that." 

He  looked  at  her  steadily,  with  a  slight  and 
bantering  shake  of  his  head  which  meant,  "Poor 
incorrigible  darling ! ' '  Andree  repeated : 

"Not  that.  There  are  lots  of  women  who  don't 
think  it  so  important.  But  I  should  think  it  just 
as  serious,  just  as  monstrous,  on  your  part  as  on 
my  own." 

She  said  these  words  slowly,  firmly  yet  gently. 
By  way  of  reassuring  her,  he  could  only  find  his 
eternal  smile,  that  he  meant  for  complete  loyalty, 
and  which  doubtless  looked  like  it.  He  feared 
mysteriously  that  in  the  secret  depths  of  his  heart 
she  would  see  the  apparition  of  the  other  woman, 
who  haunted  him  in  spite  of  himself. 


CHAPTER  III 

A   HOLIDAY 

ANDR£E  declared  that  she  had  brought  luck  to 
the  district,  for  it  was  a  fact  that  since  her  arrival, 
the  visits  of  the  Taubes  had  been  less  frequent. 
But  acquainted  with  the  danger,  she  pricked  her 
ears  and  her  heart  palpitated  at  the  slightest  sound 
of  the  siren.  The  bellowing  of  ships'  sirens  in 
the  night  made  her  jump.  Jean  laughed' — "It's 
nearly  always  the  first  bombs  that  warn  you,  you 
know!" 

One  night  in  their  second  week,  they  had  just 
gone  to  bed  when  a  big  "Boom!"  sounded,  and 
Jean  started — "This  time,  that's  the  real  thing!" 

They  fell  together  upon  the  clothes  arranged 
before  hand  for  this  contingency.  Andree,  who 
had  thrown  her  big  cloak  over  her  shoulders,  was 
urging  on  Jean,  who  struggled  with  the  legs  of  his 
trousers. 

Another  bomb,  not  very  far  away!  Again  they 
were  aiming  at  St.  Pol!  The  siren  was  not  yet 
sounding;  but  down  in  the  basement  where  she 
was  sleeping,  Madame  Mafranc  was  giving  warning 
knocks  with  a  broom-handle  for  their  benefit. 

160 


A  Holiday  161 

They  burst  into  the  low  cellar,  damp  and  stuffy, 
where  the  whole  family  was  heaped  up  on  three 
pallets — father,  mother,  and  four  children,  of 
whom  the  youngest,  a  little  deaf  mute,  was  the 
only  one  asleep,  and  she  filled  the  room  with  her 
innocent  snoring.  Neither  Jean  nor  Andr£e  yet 
knew  the  man,  who  usually  got  back  late  from  his 
work — he  was  a  weighman  at  the  Port — though 
they  sometimes  heard  his  hoarse  and  monotonous 
voice  through  the  walls.  Their  first  glance  en- 
lightened them — he  had  the  red  and  swollen  face 
of  the  drunkard.  One  pitied  the  degenerate 
children  of  a  shameless  father.  Ah,  alcohol- — the 
plague  of  this  country!  Otherwise  Mafranc  was 
sometimes  amiably  disposed.  He  chattered  with- 
out ceasing,  and  deafened  them  with  arguments 
and  assertions.  The  Zeppelins  would  not  come 
back' — he  would  answer  for  that.  Then  he  went 
on  to  bawdy  songs,  stimulated  by  the  presence  of 
Andree.  He  sought  to  get  up,  and  his  wife,  cast- 
ing despairing  glances  at  her  guests,  found  it 
difficult  to  prevent  him,  forcibly  burying  in  the 
bed  the  shaggy  calf  he  protruded. 

As  soon  as  the  danger  was  over,  the  Darboises 
•went  up  again.  "Well?"  said  Jean  ..merrily. 

And  then  Andree  shivered:  "Oh,  those  sirens 
that  go  off  too  late!  I  shall  never  be  easy  again!" 

That  anxiety  seemed  to  engross  her  during  the 
following  days;  and  she  renewed  her  suggestion — 
and  found  Jean  less  hostile  to  it — that  he  should 
write  again  to  Chinard,  who  had  not  yet  replied, 


162  A  Life  at  Stake 

just  a  flippant  and  lively  note,  the  note  of  a  friend 
who  has  no  intention  of  ceasing  to  be  one. 

The  holiday  so  much  desired  arrived.  For  a 
long  time  they  had  looked  forward  to  a  ramble 
together.  In  spite  of  the  disappointing  weather, 
the  wind  and  the  grey  sky  of  autumn,  they  took 
the  tram  for  Malo-Terminus.  They  could  not, 
en  route,  lower  the  windows  and  lean  out  to  en- 
joy the  landscape,  for  the  dusty  blasts  threatened 
to  tear  Andree's  veil  off.  Alighting  in  front  of  the 
huge  hotel  surrounded  by  trembling  motor-cars — 
Army  Corps  Headquarters — they  went  forward 
along  the  shore. 

The  deserted  immensity  gave  an  impression  of 
melancholy,  and  one's  gaze  lost  itself  in  a  mist 
which  dulled  surfaces  and  drowned  lines.  On  the 
Dunkerque  side  there  were  just  two  far-off  sil- 
houettes of  fisherwomen  and  three  courageous 
bathers,  probably  English,  dressing  again.  The 
horizon  was  pale  and  void.  Conscientiously  Jean 
and  Andree  went  forward  on  the  damp  sand,  their 
heels  sinking  in,  as  far  as  the  waves  whose  ripples 
died  on  the  featureless  shore.  Andree  pressed  close 
to  Jean's  arm — "We  were  to  have  gone  to  the 
seaside,  you  remember!" 

Yes,  that  was  in  their  plans  for  the  end  of  the 
summer  of  1914 — a  hope  slain  with  the  others. 
And  in  this  summer  of  1916,  did  any  one  still  talk 
of  holidays,  of  any  of  the  things  that  make  up  the 
charm  of  life? 

They  took  the  tram  again,  and  stopping  at  Malo, 


A  Holiday  163 

went  to  see  the  d'Estignards.  Again  Jean  wel- 
comed the  friendly  atmosphere  of  that  household. 
His  delight,  above  all,  was  in  the  reception  ac- 
corded to  Andree.  Sylvaine  shone  with  gladness. 
She  led  her  cousin  away  at  once  into  the  garden, 
and  when  they  re-appeared  they  already  held  each 
other  round  the  waist  and  talked  as  if  they  had 
always  been  friends. 

' '  How  long  shall  we  have  you  ? "  asked  the  young 
girl. 

"Twelve  days  yet,  perhaps  a  fortnight." 

"No  longer?" 

"You  see — I'm  taking  liberties  with  the  regula- 
tions." 

"Oh,  if  it's  only  that/" 

Monsieur  d'Estignard  offered  to  make  a  longer 
stay  easier  for  her.  Andree  thanked  him  warmly 
— but  there  was  her  little  Momo,  too,  whom  she 
could  not  leave  too  long.  And  yet — she  turned  to 
Jean — perhaps  she  might  take  advantage ! 

"Of  course,  dearest,"  he  said,  "if  it  wouldn't  be 
running  risks." 

They  talked  about  the  offensive,  which  had  been 
in  full  swing  for  four  days.  Naturally  there  was 
no  news  yet  of  the  little  assistant-surgeon.  Dar- 
boise  could  not  help  speaking  of  Augu&res,  and 
mention  of  his  friend's  danger  led  him  to  recall 
those  who  had  disappeared — "Claude  Boucheron, 
alas,  the  other  week!"  But  it  rather  vexed  him 
to  find  that  in  this  provincial  circle,  the  name  had 
little  effect. 


1 64  A  Life  at  Stake 

When  tea  was  served,  the  old  lady  gently  mo- 
nopolised her  little  cousin,  and  there  followed  a 
long  duologue  in  which  they  reviewed  all  the  family 
history. 

At  last  Sylvaine  was  begged  to  sing,  and  com- 
plied, Andree  venturing  in  the  part  of  accompanist. 
Jean  appreciated  her  fine  tone,  serious  and  im- 
passioned. 

On  both  sides  the  friendship  sprang  up  as 
suddenly  as  a  thunderstorm.  Two  days  later, 
Andree  lunched  at  Primrose  Villa.  It  was  a 
reciprocal  attraction.  They  pressed  her  to  come 
again  as  often  as  possible — why,  was  not  every  day 
free  to  her?  Quickly  she  acquired  the  habit  of 
going  to  Malo  almost  every  afternoon. 

Jean  looked  on  the  intimacy  with  deep  satis- 
faction, delighted  for  his  wife  to  have  this  diver- 
sion. When  she  returned  in  the  evening,  Andree 
could  not  stop  singing  the  praises  of  Sylvaine — 
"Such  a  nice  nature!  So  simple  and  so  refined! 
Much  more  intelligent  than  her  parents!  The 
real  mistress  of  the  house.  What  a  perfect  wife 
she  would  make!" 

"How  old  do  you  think  she  is?" 

"Twenty-four.     She  told  me  so  the  other  day." 

"No  idea  of  marriage  on  the  way?" 

Andree  had  thought  she  detected  the  sadness  of 
premature  widowhood,  and  one  day  Sylvaine  had 
told  her  all.  Yes,  she  had  become  engaged  in 
July,  1914,  to  a  young  barrister  at  Douai,  whom 
she  was  going  to  marry  in  October.  He  went  away 


A  Holiday  165 

the  second  day  of  mobilisation,  was  killed  at  Roye 
on  September  3Oth,  and  she  had  worn  mourning 
eighteen  months. 

Darboise  understood  now  the  expression  of  in- 
finite distress  which  often  darkened  the  forehead 
of  the  young  girl  who  was  born  for  happiness: 
"Will  she  marry  now?" 

Andree  shook  her  head:  "Who  knows?  I 
think  she  still  feels  it  very  keenly.  And  then,  her 
parents  and  she  herself  must  be  very  hard  to 
please.  They  would  insist  on  some  distinction, 
and  after  the  war,  you  know,  you  won't  find  hus- 
bands on  every  bush ! " 

"Do  you  know  whom  I've  thought  of  for  her?" 

"Augueres,  probably?" 

"Exactly." 

The  pretty  plan  made  them  smile.  A  charming 
couple,  yes,  to  steer  into  acquaintance  and  happi- 
ness! Good  old  Augueres!  They  had  just  been 
reassured  in  regard  to  his  lot.  Promoted  for  the 
second  time,  he  had  scribbled  them  an  affectionate 
card.  In  his  answer,  Jean  slipped  in  a  fraternal 
allusion  to  the  delightful  little  sweetheart — the 
lucky  dog ! — whom  they  were  keeping  for  him. 

Andree  refused  for  a  long  time  the  honour  of 
having  her  cousins  at  St.  Pol,  excusing  herself  on 
the  ground  of  the  modesty  of  their  lodging.  But 
Sylvaine  insisted,  and  a  date  was  fixed. 

The  d'Estignards,  who  were  expected  at  two 
o'clock,  did  not  arrive  till  three:  "You're  late, 
naughty  people ! " 


i66  A  Life  at  Stake 

"We've  been  having  adventures!" 

They  had  been  given  the  wrong  direction  upon 
alighting  from  the  tramcar  and  had  wandered  at 
random  for  some  time.  "If  we  hadn't  happened 
on  a  sergeant  who  knows  Jean — • — !" 

"Really?" 

"A  nice  boy.     And  he  knew  us,  too ! " 

"You  don't  mean  it?" 

"Yes,  he  noticed  us  when  we  were  saying  good- 
bye to  your  husband  at  a  concert  three  weeks  ago. 
Since  then,  we've  seen  him  there  every  Saturday. 
He  salutes  us  religiously. " 

"Sylvaine  has  made  a  conquest!"  laughed  Ma- 
dame d'Estignard. 

"What's  his  name?" 

"We'll  ask  Jean." 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Andree  comically,  "that 
/  had  a  little  affair  yesterday  in  the  tram,  with  a 
most  assiduous  suitor!"  An  officer,  who  ogled 
her,  she  related  with  amusement.  When  she  got 
out  at  Malo,  he  followed  her,  and  had  tried  to 
accost  her  three  times — "The  nuisance  is,  that  I 
believe  he's  my  husband's  lieutenant!" 

The  portrait  she  drew  was  exactly  that  of  Fau- 
vel  as  Jean  had  described  him  to  her. 

' '  You  told  Jean  then  ?     He  must  have  laughed ! ' ' 

"No,  I  didn't;  that  would  vex  him  still  more." 

She  had  noticed  for  several  days  that  he  was  very 
quiet — the  change  promised  him  had  not  come  off. 
He  was  still  at  the  "bakery"  and  the  night  turn 
was  approaching.  "  I  '11  go  and  see  the  lieutenant, ' ' 


A  Holiday  167 

he  had  told  her  two  days  before.  And  if  he  had 
been  told  of  the  incident  he  would  have  let  himself 
be  cut  in  pieces  rather  than  tempt  overtures. 
She  knew  her  Jean ! 

Of  his  real  troubles,  the  worst  was  his  sorrow  that 
he  could  not  open  his  heart  to  her.  And  then  he 
was  not  happy  at  the  Textile,  where  there  were  a 
thousand  tribulations — all  the  worse  for  the  other 
threat  hanging  over  him ! 

On  the  day  after  Germaine's  risky  visit,  he  went 
to  the  Rue  Gambetta  with  the  intention  of  lectur- 
ing her  on  her  imprudence.  He  found  her  alone. 
She  came  timidly  up  to  him,  and  suddenly  em- 
barrassed by  her  presence,  he  felt  obscurely  offended 
that  she  only  offered  him  her  hand. 

Then  she  forestalled  him  and  began  blaming 
herself.  She  felt  that  she  had  acted  foolishly  the 
night  before,  that  he  had  not  been  pleased,  and 
was  angry  with  her.  She  was  still  angrier  with 
herself.  In  face  of  her  contrition,  it  was  Jean  who, 
seized  with  remorse,  persuaded  her  not  to  exag- 
gerate the  seriousness.  Then,  brightening  up 
perhaps  too  quickly,  either  sincerely  or  acutely, 
she  sang  the  praises  of  Andree — ' '  How  much  nicer 
she  is  than — than  her  photo !  How  she  makes  me 
feel — ugly,  by  the  side  of  her ! " 

The  subject  embarrassed  Darboise,  and  he 
turned  it  aside:  "And  your  mother-in-law — 
what's  she  like?" 

"She  fumes  because  you  don't  lodge  with  us." 

' '  Well !    As  long  as  I  pay  just  the  same ' ' 


i68  A  Life  at  Stake 

' '  How — you're  paying  ? ' ' 

He  explained  that  he  had  promised  to  do  it  the 
other  day;  and  he  should  keep  his  word,  although 
the  burden  of  double  rent 

Germaine  stopped  him.  "But  I  don't  want 
that  at  all!" 

"My  dear " 

"Nor  my  mother-in-law,  either!" 

"Well,  I  insist " 

"When  you've  come  back  here,  then,  per- 
haps  " 

He  was  wondering  secretly  if  he  would  really 
go  back  there  after  Andree's  departure  in  twelve 
days.  He  had  resolved  to  break  away  gently. 
He  went  on :  "  You  understand,  I  don't  want  your 
mother-in-law  to  be  able  to  reproach  me." 

"Oh,  it's  not  for  that  that  she's  angry." 

"Why  then?" 

"Some  stupid  talk!" 

Puzzled,  he  pressed  her,  but  did  not  succeed  in 
discovering  the  truth  behind  her  reticence.  The 
key  turned  in  the  lock;  it  was  the  old  woman 
coming  in. 

At  sight  of  Darboise  she  stopped  dead  on  the 
threshold.  With  steady  eyes  and  a  hard  expres- 
sion she  stared  at  him  for  some  seconds. 

He,  putting  a  bold  front  on  it,  went  up  to  her 
and  held  out  his  hand :  ' '  How  goes  it,  Madame 
Trousselier?  I've  just  called  to  say  good-day  to 
you." 

"Are  you  going  to  keep  the  ground  floor — yes 


A  Holiday  169 

or  no?"  she  launched  out,  without  taking  his 
hand. 

"Why,  yes,  I'm  keeping  it,  since  I  shall  certainly 
be — your  lodger  again." 

Germaine  interposed:  "I  was  telling  him  that 
he  mustn't  pay  while  he's  not  here.  Likely  as  not 
we  shouldn't  have  been  able  to  let  it  again " 

"'He  mustn't  pay !' "  the  old  woman  burst  out; 
"is  some  one  going  to  pay  us  an  income  then? 
Isn't  it  enough  already  that  he's  dropped  us  for  the 
Mafrancs ?  'He  mustn't  pay ! '  That  seems  quite 
easy  to  you !  Because  he'll  come  back  'perhaps ' ? 
If  he  didn't  come  back,  you  might  whistle  for 
some  one  to  take  the  rooms  now!" 

Jean  ventured:  "There's  no  reason  why  you 
should  be  short  of  civilians!" 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"What's  changed?" 

She  looked  him  up  and  down  evilly:  "It's  this 
way — my  son's  house  used  to  have  a  good  reputa- 
tion." 

Strangely  uneasy,  he  understood  that  he  had  got 
to  stand  up  for  himself:  "And  why  should  it  not 
have  that  now,  madame?" 

"That's  enough!"  Without  another  word  she 
took  refuge  in  her  room,  angrily  banging  the  door. 

"Well!  What  does  she  know?  What  does  she 
want?" 

"Nasty  beast!"  murmured  Germaine  through 
her  teeth.  "To  begin  with,  they're  making  her 
excited " 


170  A  Life  at  Stake 

"Who  are?" 

She  refused  to  say;  and  as  he  got  angry  in  his 
turn  and  cried  that  he  was  sick  of  it  all,  that  all 
these  mysterious  tricks  bored  him  to  death,  she 
resumed  her  cajoling  tone:  "Don't  get  cross 
about  it,  darling — I'll  explain  to  her — I'll  answer 
for  it  that  it'll  be  all  right.  " 

He  left  her,  discontented  with  himself  and  with 
her.  He  had  not  persuaded  her  to  accept  the 
thirty-five  francs. 

"I  should  throw  it  in  the  canal ! "  she  threatened. 

"So  shall  I!"  But  it  was  a  sum  that  mattered 
to  him  now. 

Several  days  of  lull  followed.  The  horizon 
seemed  to  clear  and  Darboise's  optimism  was 
quick  to  take  the  upper  hand. 

One  evening,  however,  after  dinner,  when  he  had 
gone  out  with  Andree,  and  had  just  ventured,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  dunes,  to  take  her  arm,  whom 
should  they  meet  but  two  women,  standing  and 
chatting,  who  leered  at  them  impudently.  They 
were  Madame  Trousselier  and  Mademoiselle  Van- 
denbucke.  Did  they  know  each  other,  too !  Jean 
could  not  pass  without  saluting  them,  but  they 
made  no  response. 

"Who  are  they?"  Andree  asked;  "I  often  meet 
those  two  together;  they  eye  me  as  if  they  had 
something  against  me. " 

"The  old  woman  is  my  former  landlady,  you 
know,  the  one  I  was  telling  you  about " 


A  Holiday 

"The  mother  of  the  woman  who  came  for  the 
washing?" 

"Her  mother-in-law. " 

Andree  did  not  persist,  being  devoid  of  sus- 
picions. He  hurried  her  along  with  a  brisk 
step,  to  hide  his  uneasiness. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   GRIEVANCE 

ANDREE  was  accomplishing  her  ends.  She  had 
induced  Jean  to  draw  up  a  draft  of  a  letter  to 
Chinard ;  four  pages  of  lively  stuff,  in  which  a  de- 
scription of  the  humorous  side  of  life  at  Dunkerque 
was  finished  off  with  one  or  two  expressions  of 
cordial  friendliness.  And  Andree,  whose  return 
was  drawing  near — her  husband,  haunted  by  vague 
fears,  dared  not  take  it  on  him  to  detain  her — pro- 
posed to  go  and  call  again  on  Paulette  Dartigues, 
as  soon  as  ever  she  got  back. 

That  afternoon  was  signalised  by  a  lively  alarm. 

It  was  just  one  o'clock  when  the  siren  hurled 
forth  its  fitful  howling.  Then  one  after  another, 
dull  explosions  sounded,  four,  five,  six. 

Andree  went  to  her  window  and  saw  the  enemy 
aeroplanes — three  Taubes,  that  had  come  up  be- 
hind the  shelter  of  a  cloud — making  off  again, 
followed  by  the  little  smoke-clouds  of  shells.  In 
the  street,  several  gossips  were  nodding  their  heads 
with  a  knowing  air — "Right  on  the  Port!" 

Where  Jean  was !  In  anguish,  Andree  ventured 
172 


A  Grievance  173 

to  question  them.  What  did  they  know — had 
they  seen  anything? 

As  the  women  replied  only  vaguely,  she  went  out 
to  make  inquiries.  Groups  were  forming.  She 
mingled  in  them,  but  they  looked  at  her  unkindly. 
Not  far  away,  Mademoiselle  Vandenbucke  was 
jogging  her  neighbours  with  her  elbows  and  point- 
ing out  to  them  the  Parisienne,  and  they  looked 
at  her  with  an  injured  air.  But  little  did  Andr6e 
care.  She  thought  she  heard  a  passer-by  say: 
"It's  on  the  Textile ! "  She  ran  and  accosted  two 
youths,  who  laughed  in  her  face. 

In  the  deepest  uneasiness  she  went  in  again. 
Madame  Mafranc,  seeking  to  reassure  her,  made 
some  alarming  observations :  the  Textile,  bless  us ! 
was  a  very  big  place,  but  still  there  was  no 
doubt  it  was  marked.  Andree  could  stand  no 
more  and  put  her  hat  on:  "That's  the  worst  of 
it,  I'm  going  to  see " 

' '  Mind — they  won't  let  you  pass ! ' ' 

And  indeed,  when  she  had  crossed  the  dunes, 
a  sentry  suddenly  appeared  and  barred  her  road. 
She  bewildered  him  with  her  arguments  and  al- 
most convinced  him,  but  the  sergeant  seemed  to  be 
a  churl,  and  was  barely  polite  to  her.  She  had  the 
daring  to  appeal  to  an  officer  who  was  leaving  the 
Intendance  building,  a  captain.  He,  by  contrast, 
was  quickly  over-courteous.  She  would  have  liked 
to  snub  him,  but  was  too  much  afraid  of  having  to 
show  her  papers.  He  offered  to  accompany  her 
and  show  her  round  the  Port.  She  declined  the 


174  A  Life  at  Stake 

invitation  and  went  back,  content  with  the  de- 
finite statement  that  the  six  bombs  failed  in  their 
object. 

She  was  calm  by  evening  and  ran  smiling  to 
meet  Jean : ' '  Did  you  imagine — what  a  state  I  was 
in  at  midday?" 

"What  about?" 

"About  you." 

"Well,  there  was  no  need!"  he  said. 

Darboise  dropped  into  an  arm-chair.  His  de- 
pressed look  struck  her:  "What's  the  matter? 
What  have  they  done  to  you?" 

"The  dirty  devils!" 

"What  about  them?" 

"It  wasn't  their  fault  that  they  didn't  get  us  all 
done  in!" 

"How's  that?" 

He  narrated  the  hateful  scene.  He  was  in  a 
"wood  fatigue"  today,  and  they  were  mustered  in 
ranks  to  resume  work — in  ranks,  a  vexatious  fancy 
of  Dubus! — when  the  Taubes  were  announced. 
When  the  first  bomb  exploded  in  their  neighbour- 
hood, on  the  breakwater,  a  slight  panic  seized 
them  and  they  were  making  for  the  shelters  when 
the  adjutant  bawled:  "By  God,  there  are  no 
shelters  for  you!  I  forbid  you  to  stir!  Let  the 
first  man  that  I  catch  taking  his  hook  beware!" 

The  power  of  an  officer!  Though  every  man's 
life  was  concerned,  there  were  just  three,  Gauthier 
Charles,  Thuillier,  and  himself,  who  disobeyed  and 
fled  to  the  dug-outs  made  by  the  English,  who  gave 


A  Grievance  175 

them  shelter.  "What  a  mess,  too,  when  they 
got  back!" 

"I  promise  you,"  said  Jean,  "it  had  very 
nearly  been  something  villainous.  Dubus  called 
Thuillier  a  coward,  and  he  might  have  called  me 
that!" 

"Come  now,"  said  Andree  gently,  "at  least  he 
didn't  punish  you?" 

"Not  just  then — he  couldn't.  He  was  in  the 
wrong.  His  order  was  right  against  the  garrison 
regulations.  Only 

"Only  what?" 

"All  the  rest  of  the  day,  he  was  trying  to  be 
revenged — to  catch  us — all  three  of  us.  It's 
always  easy  to  do.  Every  time  we  stopped  to 
breathe  a  second,  he  flew  at  us  with  his  'by  Gods!' 
And  in  the  end  he's  reported  us,  it  seems. " 

Andr6e  could  hardly  believe  there  could  be  such 
ferocious  stupidity:  "But  what  sort  of  work  were 
you  doing  ? ' ' 

"The  most  useless  and  the  most  laborious!" 

"What  exactly?" 

"Like  most  other  days. " 

"You  didn't  tell  me  that." 

"Ah,  if  I  told  you  everything!" 

Up  till  then  he  had  disguised  the  full  extent  of 
his  unhappiness.  Ton  ght,  the  flood  of  indigna- 
tion was  too  strong,  and  carried  him  away.  In  a 
low  and  yet  biting  tone,  with  harsh  and  thrilling 
expressions,  he  began  to  describe  to  her  what  their 
miserable  galley-slave  existence  was  like,  when 


176  A  Life  at  Stake 

once  they  had  been  handed  over  in  the  morning  to 
the  non-coms,  like  serfs  sold  by  auction. 

Work  of  the  most  exhausting  kind,  and  different 
every  day,  so  that  their  unfamiliarity  with  it  made 
it  all  the  more  difficult;  the  sorting  and  appoint- 
ment of  the  men  carried  on  haphazard,  without 
the  least  regard  to  their  cleverness  or  their  physical 
fitness.  He  had  himself  pleaded  his  bad  arm — but 
no ;  no  consideration  at  all !  Sometimes  he  would 
be  yonder  at  Hangar  No.  5,  carrying  to  the  wag- 
gons sacks  of  oats  that  weighed  over  two  hundred 
pounds ;  sometimes  feeding  the  little  trucks  for  the 
crushing-mill  in  an  atmosphere  saturated  with  a 
dust  that  scorched  his  throat ;  sometimes  emptying 
barley  and  wheat  on  the  floor,  so  that  they  could 
be  mixed  together,  in  the  hangar  which  was  known 
as  "Russia,"  because  it  froze  you  in  winter  and 
made  you  catch  cold  in  summer;  sometimes  in  the 
coal-boats — and  what  a  state  she  had  seen  him 
come  back  in,  two  nights  running !  All  these  were 
tasks  for  beasts  of  burden,  for  which  he  was  never 
intended ! 

"No,  I  wasn't  made  for  it!"  Rebelliously,  he 
repeated  his  eternal  grievance,  eternally  valid, 
again  and  again.  He  had  ability,  good  taste,  and 
the  right  to  be  doing  something  different;  he  was 
worth  more  than  that !  He,  mutilated  in  the  war, 
who  had  not  spared  either  devotion  or  his  blood 
for  his  country's  sake! 

Getting  more  excited,  he  said  it  was  not  only 
the  severity  of  such  tasks — he  might  have  resigned 


A  Grievance  177 

himself  to  that — but  the  mental  atmosphere 
which  prevailed  there,  that  was  what  exceeded 
all  the  rest,  that  was  what  stifled  one's  judgment 
and  exasperated  one's  temper! 

Ah,  that  wilful  bullying,  that  contempt  for  the 
human  being!  It  seemed  as  though  they  had 
taken  it  on  themselves  to  disgust  the  men  with 
their  work.  The  harshness  of  the  officers  was 
damnable,  and  they  followed  only  higher  example; 
from  end  to  end  of  the  ladder,  they  rivalled  each 
other  in  stern  severity,  in  paltry  and  cynical  sever- 
ity. All  the  services  of  the  depot  were  compressed 
within  the  iron  hand  of  Brigadier  Neraudin,  a 
handsome  man  of  forty-four  years,  who  had  got 
two  of  his  stripes  and  his  decoration  at  Dunkerque. 
One  met  him  from  time  to  time,  either  in  a  motor- 
car, sweeping  the  bays  with  the  cruel  eyes  of  a  bird 
of  prey,  or  on  foot,  cane  in  hand,  booted,  gloved, 
smart,  passing  by  the  haggard  workers  without 
ever  returning  a  salute.  But  he  was  watching 
them,  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye;  and  for  the  least 
failing — prison,  and  more  prison!  He  reduced 
to  the  ranks  a  corporal  whom  he  caught  sitting. 
Nothing  pleased  him  so  much  as  to  feel  the  word- 
less terror  that  preceded  him. 

And  his  subordinates !  Carouge,  a  huge  fellow, 
a  greedyguts,  who  had  been  adjutant  in  the  regu- 
lar army  and  had  developed  a  gift  for  administra- 
tion since  the  war.  Puffed  up  with  conceit,  he 
required  even  the  non-coms,  to  stand  at  attention 
while  saluting.  There  was  Deludat,  too,  small 


A  Life  at  Stake 


and  slender,  pale  and  peevish,  who  seemed  also 
to  be  a  machine  for  distributing  imprisonment. 
These  two  lieutenants  were  the  masters  of  the 
Textile,  with  the  two  adjutants  in  the  Staff 
Office,  Morinet  the  persistent  bawler,  and  the 
silent  and  dreaded  Moulin.  From  this  Staff  had 
proceeded  all  that  series  of  notices,  orders,  and 
service  instructions  which  papered  six  yards  of 
partition  near  the  hairdresser's  shed.  The  peru- 
sal of  them  was  enough  to  surround  one  with  a 
sense  of  alarm,  oppression,  and  humiliation.  It 
bristled  with  warnings  and  Draconian  vetoes. 
There  was  a  list,  too,  renewed  every  day,  of  pen- 
alties, with  the  reasons  for  their  infliction;  such 
a  one,  court-martialled  for  appropriating  a  piece 
of  bread;  another,  eight  days'  imprisonment  "for 
having  stayed  twenty  minutes  at  the  latrine" 
—  eight  days  being  Deludat's  order,  automatically 
changed  into  fifteen  by  the  brigadier.  There  were 
also  placarded  some  muddled  instructions  for  the 
event  of  bombardment,  and  all  with  the  threat  of 
the  turnkey  —  "Any  offender  whatsoever  will  be 
punished  with  the  utmost  severity."  Punish- 
ment, always  punishment!  Ah,  the  despots! 
Deludat's  last  trick  was  the  notice  posted  the 
night  before.  To  prevent  the  peculation  of  pro- 
visions, which  had  greatly  increased  of  late,  the 
fatigue  parties  would  have  to  file  past  a  non- 
com.  with  bare  heads  and  their  pockets  inside 
out,  and  this  at  least  twice  a  week  on  surprise 
orders. 


A  Grievance  179 

"You  can  imagine  the  picture!  Worse  than 
convicts!" 

Jean  was  boiling:  "They're  going  too  far. 
Several  of  us  have  decided  not  to  submit  to  it, 
and  whoever  proposes  to  search  me,  he'll  get  a 
smack  on  the  nose!" 

"My  Jean- 

Andree  tried  to  calm  him,  but  he  got  still  hot- 
ter: "Yes,  but  it  ought  to  be  made  known — by  a 
Press  campaign,  say — they'd  have  to  take  physic 
then!  See,  if  I  get  all  right  with  Chinard  again, 
I'll  send  him  a  budget!" 

Andree  began  to  speak,  but  he  went  on :  "  Fancy 
having  men  like  those  for  officers!  Look  at  that 
last  notice  of  Deludat's!  His  typist  must  have 
played  the  trick  on  him  of  typing  it  just  as  it  was — 
full  of  fantastic  spelling  mistakes — several  to  a 
line — 'material'  with  two  t's  and  two  e's — and  all 
split  infinitives!  Decante  made  a  copy  of  it — 
I'll  show  it  to  you,  in  his  note-book.  That's  the 
gentleman  he  is — that's  the  sort  of  pate  he's  got!" 

Still  Jean  went  on.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  ac- 
cumulated bitterness  of  his  weeks  of  slavery  was 
overflowing : 

' '  To  give  you  an  idea  of  the  folly  and  malicious- 
ness of  those  chaps.  If  only  they  themselves  were 
qualified  for  their  jobs:  But  they  are  the  devil! 
Crass  ignorance,  unscrupulousness,  confusion. 
And  that  means  unheard-of  waste.  I  told  you 
about  the  poor  beggars  sent  to  quod  for  pinching  a 
bit  of  bread  ?  Well,  there  are  three  hundred  loaves, 


i8o  A  Life  at  Stake 

at  least,  spoiled  every  day,  through  the  actions  of 
those  gentlemen. " 

He  recalled  several  scandals.  The  sacks  of  oats, 
corn,  and  rice  were  often  burst  when  brought  off 
the  ships  and  their  contents  leaked  in  big  jets, 
yet  they  were  dragged  about  with  no  attempt  at 
recovery.  Coal  was  piled  up  on  the  quays  in  such 
mountains  that  frequently  spontaneous  combus- 
tion occurred  and  the  firemen  had  to  be  summoned. 
And  the  absence  of  real  oversight,  the  squandering, 
the  constant  neglect  of  the  elementary  laws  of 
health!  An  example?  Why,  the  fatigue  men 
were  forced,  after  unloading  the  ships,  to  scrape 
the  ground  and  sweep  out  the  waggons,  and  the 
filthy  residuum  they  picked  up  in  their  shovels — a 
mixture  of  flour,  dust,  coal,  and  mud,  sometimes 
dung  and  sometimes  dead  rats — that  was  all 
poured  into  fresh  sacks  and  tied  up  and  marked  and 
sent  off  just  like  the  others !  That  was  the  way  to 
spread  disease!  Everywhere  the  same  feeling  of 
carelessness,  of  management  without  laws! 

By  a  roundabout  way  Jean  came  back  to  his 
starting-point. 

"They  talk  of  a  labour  crisis;  well,  there  is  one 
here.  There  are  ships  losing  days  and  weeks  at  the 
quays  for  want  of  men  to  unload  them.  Look  at 
the  loss  and  the  huge  demurrages  that  no  one  gets 
any  good  from!  And  meanwhile — well,  our  job 
today,  do  you  know  what  it  was?" 

"The  'wood  fatigue,'  you  said?" 

"Yes,  this  morning  Morinet  sent  forty  of  us 


A  Grievance  181 

to  find  Dubus.  'Nothing  doing,'  growled  Dubus. 
The  sergeant  suggests  taking  us  back — they  were 
short  of  men  at  the  'refrigerator.'  'Shut  your 
jaw,'  says  the  other;  'who's  consulting  you? 
/'//  find  them  a  job ! '  He  shows  us  a  towering  heap 
of  logs.  'That's  not  in  the  right  place;  stack  it 
again  for  me,  six  yards  farther  off. ' ' 

Such  was  the  exhausting  work  that  had  occupied 
them  all  day.  Giraud  had  been  hurt  in  the  leg  by 
the  sudden  fall  of  a  heavy  log  and  had  been  taken 
to  hospital. 

As  Andree  now  rebelled  in  her  turn,  Jean  went 
on:  "It  seems  incredible  to  you?  It's  every  day 
alike,  and  the  chaps  are  used  to  it.  When  they're 
going  to  the  wood  fatigue  they  say  jestingly, 
'There'll  be  some  more  piles  of  wood  to  shift,  so 
that  we  can  sweep  underneath. '  Anywhere  you 
find  the  same  idiotic  ideas.  Why,  for  two  months 
there's  been  a  party  of  thirty  chaps  who  do  no- 
thing whatever  but  destroy  the  shelters  and  build 
them  again  close  by. " 

"But  why  isn't  it  all  known?" 

"All  those  people  stick  together.  The  briga- 
dier stands  well '  at  Court. '  He  shields  the  people 
round  him  on  condition  that  they  grovel  before 
him.  Inspections?  The  archdodgers !  Why  there 
was  a  Parliamentary  Committee  came  some  time 
ago,  and  they  had  eight  days'  notice  of  it.  They 
began  by  tearing  off  certain  posters  which  pre- 
scribed that  the  men  were  to  go  on  working  dur- 
ing air-raids  as  if  nothing  was  happening, — are  we  of 


i82  A  Life  at  Stake 

the  fighting  service?  Then,  since  it  was  rather  a 
quiet  time,  and  some  of  the  men  had  been  idling 
for  a  few  weeks,  they  organised  a  pretty  comedy. 
A  hundred  men  were  collected  by  the  tubs  of 
smoked  herrings,  and  as  soon  as  the  blast  of  a 
whistle  announced  the  official  arrival — 'Now,  get 
to  work ! ' — and  the  fellows  start  chucking  the  tubs 
into  each  other's  hands.  A  superbly  picturesque 
effect!  The  M.P.'s  were  astounded,  and  con- 
gratulated the  brigadier.  One  of  them,  when  he 
got  back  to  Paris,  told  a  Minister  about  the  ac- 
tivity of  the  service,  and  so,  a  week  later,  it  had  to 
be  done  all  over  again,  and  the  barrels  put  where 
they  were  before,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Army 
cinema!" 

Jean  laughed,  but  there  was  exasperation  in  his 
laughter:  "Tell  me,  darling,  don't  you  think  one 
has  good  reason  to  be  disgusted?" 

"And  that  report  against  you  three,  do  you  think 
it's  serious?" 

Well !  In  that  matter,  he  declined  to  be  worried 
yet.  Perhaps  it  was  an  empty  threat,  seeing  it 
was  based  on  such  unfairness.  No  matter!  The 
one  thing  certain  was  that  he  was  "fed  up" — fed 
up  with  all  the  management ! 

"  Well  then,  what  next?" 

She  jumped  at  the  conclusion  to  which  he  was 
coming  and  the  disagreeable  news  which  she  had 
for  him  froze  on  her  lips.  He  went  on:  "It's  all 
very  well  to  let  things  go  on  and  to  go  where  you're 
sent,  but  there's  a  limit  to  everything.  They've 


A  Grievance  183 

disheartened  me,  and  the  only  thing  I  dream  about 
now  is  to  hide  away  in  a  little  quiet  corner  until  the 
end  of  the  war." 

"Will  that  be  long,  do  you  think?" 

"What?" 

"The  war?" 

"Years!  No  end  in  sight.  The  governments 
on  both  sides  have  messed  it  in. " 

"But,  "  she  objected  timidly,  "it's  going  well  on 
theSomme?" 

' '  Going  well  ?     Do  you  think  it's  going  well  ? ' ' 

Sarcastically  he  drew  up  the  balance-sheet  of  the 
first  three  weeks  of  the  offensive.  What  losses 
and  what  a  paltry  advance!  The  effect  of  sur- 
prise miscarried,  the  British  stopped  at  once,  the 
equivalent  of  what  the  battle  of  Verdun  had  been 
for  the  Boches!  A  pretty  take-in,  such  success! 

He  had  hardly  referred  to  such  subjects  as  these 
for  a  very  long  time,  and  though  she  was  quite 
accustomed  to  his  assurance,  she  was  surprised  to 
hear  him  argue  in  this  tone  of  bitterness.  "It 
looks  as  if  some  one  had  been  slyly  stirring  you 
up!" 

Her  intuition  was  right — the  pernicious  influ- 
ence of  Decante!  But  Jean  almost  got  angry: 
' '  Can  you  prove  me  wrong  on  a  single  point  ? ' ' 

'  No,  you're  right, "  she  admitted.  She  was  in- 
clined to  share  his  vexation  and  disgust.  Con- 
tent that  he  had  convinced  her,  he  went  on,  and 
his  tone  became  suddenly  gentler  and  more  affec- 
tionate : 


184  A  Life  at  Stake 

"  My  little  darling,  my  Andree — you're  the  only 
one  that  can  get  me  out  of  it." 

"How?" 

She  saw  what  was  to  come,  and  grieved  for  the 
delusion  she  would  have  to  shatter. 

"You're  going  back,"  he  said. 

"Are  you  going  to  send  me  away?" 

She  smiled  at  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact  her  leav- 
ing was  decided  on ;  after  all,  they  had  been  together 
nearly  a  month,  after  counting  only  on  twenty 
days! 

"I  want  you,"  he  continued,  "to  go  and  call 
on  Paulette  Dartigues  the  very  next  day  after 
Chinard  has  received " 

At  the  name  of  Chinard  she  raised  her  head  and 
murmured  with  an  effort:  "There's — there's  an 
answer  from  him. " 

She  looked  for  the  letter  on  the  table,  and 
handed  it  to  him.  He  had  no  thought  of  taking 
offence  that  she  had  opened  it, — a  habit  which  had 
the  sanction  of  their  mutual  trust.  But  her  silence 
about  the  letter  till  now  froze  him  with  apprehen- 
sion: "Well!  What  does  he  say?" 

She  watched  him  for  the  few  seconds  that  it  took 
him  to  run  through  the  letter.  Chinard  acknow- 
ledged the  receipt  of  Jean's  long  letter  which,  he 
said,  he  had  that  minute  received.  (He  had  just 
got  back  from  the  Balearic  Islands,  where  he  had 
had  to  go  with  a  geographical  commission.)  What 
could  he  say?  He  was  very  busy.  He  apolo- 
gised, he  apologised  profoundly,  for  his  candour; 


A  Grievance  185 

another  time,  he  would  be  hypocritically  lauda- 
tory. All  the  same,  if  there  was  one  person  who 
ought  not  to  have  taken  offence  at  his  attitude,  it 
was  his  friend  Jean,  himself  so  infatuated  with 
sincerity!  Enough  of  that  subject!  He  could 
only  sympathise  deeply,  if  it  was  his  loneliness 
that  was  making  him  so  bitter.  He  preferred  not 
to  say  anything  more  and  he  ended :  ' '  Yours  very 
truly." 

Darboise  whistled.  In  every  sentence  he  per- 
ceived the  sarcasm  of  disdainful  superiority.  He 
kept  the  letter  in  his  hand  and  with  a  grin  said: 
"Perfect!" 

He  tried  to  find  some  ironical  observation,  but 
it  did  not  come.  His  eyes  wandered  to  the  mirror. 
There  he  saw  himself  as  he  was,  in  his  working- 
clothes  and  that  poor  and  ugly  background,  with 
the  gloomy  prospect  of  morrows  like  today,  and 
he  despaired  of  himself.  An  outcast!  A  van- 
quished man ! 

Andree  followed  the  working  in  his  face  of  this 
self-deception.  She  went  up  to  him  silently,  but 
he  kept  her  off,  rather  roughly:  "Wait!  I'm  too 
filthily  dirty!" 

But  she  overpowered  his  resistance  and  gave  him 
her  fresh  and  sweet  caress:  "But  /  love  you  like 
that,  my  poor  dear!" 

Heedless  of  the  dirt  and  perspiration  that 
stained  him,  she  kissed  him  lingeringly,  and  he 
felt  the  supreme  purity  of  his  wife's  affection. 

"You've  got  me;  we  have  each  other, "  she  said. 


i86  A  Life  at  Stake 

"There  now!  I've  made  you  dirty!" — a  mark 
on  the  muslin  of  the  dressing-gown ! 

"It'll  wash!"  she  said  playfully,  with  a  smile  so 
glorious  that  he  wanted  to  fall  on  his  knees  and 
worship  her:  "How  good  you  are!  How  I  love 
you!"  he  sighed. 

Leaning  the  dear  head  against  her  shoulder  she 
fondled  it:  "As  long  as  I  have  you  in  my  arms,  as 
long  as  we  believe  in  each  other,  the  world  can  do 
nothing  against  us!" 

"All  the  same,  then,  tell  me " 

She  added  with  energy:  "For  I've  got  con- 
fidence in  you  and  in  myself,  in  your  talent  and  in 
the  revenge  that  you'll  take ' 

"And  in  my  love,  too,  Andree?"  he  said  passion- 
ately, as  her  breath  fanned  his  forehead. 

"Sometimes,  yes,"  she  bantered.  Then,  very 
low,  as  if  she  dreaded  making  the  confession,  or 
as  if  she  ventured  it  only  in  jest,  she  whispered: 
"Do  you  know  that,  sometimes,  I'm  afraid  you've 
changed ! ' ' 

"How  changed?     Don't  say  that!" 

Instinctively  she  repeated  the  expression  of  the 
other  day:  "Ah,  if  you  were  ever  unfaithful  to 
me " 

' '  What  should  you  do  ? " 

"I  don't  want  to  say;  I  don't  want  to  think  of 
it."  She  laughed  the  little  roguish  and  childish 
laugh  that  he  was  so  fond  of;  and  stiffening  the 
clasp  of  his  arm  round  her  supple  waist,  he  held 
her  closely  to  him,  and  still  more  closely :  ' '  Closer 


A  Grievance  187 

still!"  she  quivered.  "Oh,  I  know  that  just  now 
you  love  me!" 

Alas!  Just  at  that  minute  there  came  again 
into  his  memory  that  other  dark  and  threatening 
scene  of  the  day  before,  when  he  had  gone  to  pay 
his  month's  rent  to  Madame  Trousselier.  The  old 
woman  had  refused  the  money — "We're  not 
beggars  at  least" — and  had  sent  him  away  with 
mutterings  of  treachery. 

Ah,  the  tragic  impasse  into  which  fate  was  driv- 
ing him !  He  knew  too  well  that  in  this  increasing 
trouble  whose  shadow  was  rising  darkly  above  his 
life,  one  light  only  remained  to  him,  one  only 
protecting  deity — his  wife,  the  chosen  being;  and 
to  think  that  he  was  trying  to  bring  it  about  that 
she  should  go  away  in  a  few  days!  Pitiful  in- 
consistency ! 


BOOK  VI 

CHAPTER  I 

AT   THE  FIRING-GROUNDS 

DAYLIGHT  was  dawning,  dirty  and  grey.  It 
had  rained  all  night,  and  the  downpour  still  spread 
itself  as  though  its  resources  were  unlimited, 
splashing  on  the  tiled  roofs  and  turning  the  muddy 
roads  into  marshes.  But  half  awake,  the  men 
were  dragging  themselves  along  in  column  of  four; 
and  murmurs  were  arising:  "My  God,  what  a 
life!"  "This  was  my  rest-day!"  Over  all  ran 
the  complaint — "And  all  this  for  the  auxiliary 
men!" 

Common  talk  accused  the  new  Governor  of  a 
desire  to  be  zealous.  Had  it  come  from  him,  this 
ridiculous  idea  of  drilling  with  the  rifle  the  very 
men  who  were  exempted  by  law  from  carrying  it  ? 
Or  must  it  be  ascribed  to  the  stupidity  of  his 
subordinates? 

Their  shoddy  great-coats  were  pierced  through 
by  the  falling  rain.  The  pouches  in  which  each  man 
carried  a  hunch  of  bread  were  saturated.  Jean 
felt  the  water  beating  on  the  back  of  his  neck  and 

1 88 


At  the  Firing-Grounds         189 

trickling  down  his  shoulder-blades;  and  his  old 
boots  were  leaking. 

They  had  entered  Dunkerque  and  were  marching 
in  step,  rifle  on  shoulder,  along  the  still  lifeless 
streets.  A  little  beyond  the  Rosendael  Gate, 
they  halted.  The  gate  was  locked  and  no  one 
answered  their  summons.  Fauvel  then  questioned 
the  adjutant:  "Didn't  you  let  the  musketry 
sergeant  know?" 

"I  didn't  think  we  were  coming  here,  lieu- 
tenant!" 

Fauvel  shrugged  his  shoulders — as  long  as 
everybody  was  playing  the  fool!  One  felt  that 
he  was  in  the  wrong.  Sergeant  Gandolphe  was 
sent  to  find  the  key. 

For  a  long  time  they  stood  under  the  torrent, 
in  front  of  the  wall.  Fauvel,  wrong  side  out,  was 
chewing  his  moustache.  Jean,  who  proposed  to 
approach  him  and  get  an  answer  about  the  "sani- 
tary fatigue,"  concluded  that  the  moment  was  not 
opportune. 

They  had  piled  arms,  and  Darboise  wandered 
from  group  to  group.  Some  of  the  younger  men 
waited  in  stoical  resignation.  Little  Navarro 
said  to  Jean :  ' '  It's  a  tiring  job,  to  stand  on  your 
legs!"  He  was  a  lad  of  twenty,  whose  squad- 
book  mentioned  "chronic  bronchitis."  He  had 
high  colour  in  his  cheek-bones;  he  was  getting 
thinner;  he  was  exhausted  by  nightly  sweats; 
he  was  going  off  rapidly,  and  no  one  cared. 

Decante,  Thuillier,  and  Clement  were  talking, 


190  A  Life  at  Stake 

hooded  by  the  waterproofs  they  were  lucky  enough 
to  have :  '  'Wretched  do,  this !  When  they  might 
have  left  us  snoozing!" 

"Ah,  it's  what  they've  arranged,  you  see!" 

"If  only  there  was  some  rest  to  follow,  by  and 
by!" 

"What  do  you  think!  Hard  graft,  when  we 
get  back!" 

"You  talk  about  lunacy,  their  firing  practice!" 

"Is  there  anything  intelligent  one  can  see?" 

Jean  drew  near.  Clement  was  telling  a  story 
he  had  got  from  a  motor-driver  friend : 

"They  got  a  fright  the  other  day.  You  know 
the  Corps  has  just  changed  generals?" 

"That's  right.     It's  C 's  father,  now!" 

"A  note  from  him,  at  parade,  announces  that 
on  such  a  day  at  such  a  time,  his  own  orderly  staff 
officer  will  come  to  inspect  all  the  motor-cars  of 
the  Corps.  D'you  know  how  many  there  are? 
Six  hundred." 

"And  then?" 

"Talk  about  a  disturbance!  The  story  goes 
that  he'll  catechise  all  the  drivers  and  find  out  if 
the  cars  are  in  order.  Bussieres,  the  fiddler, 
begins  to  look  for  his  'bus,  that  he's  never  yet 
seen.  Three  days  of  rubbing  and  polishing 

"That  did  no  harm!" 

"On  the  appointed  day,  the  officer  comes  along 
— a  little  yellow  chap,  a  cocky  nobody,  like  they 
all  are  at  H.  Q.  Do  you  know  what  it  amounted 
to,  their  wonderful  inspection?  To  making  a 


At  the  Firing-Grounds         I91 

list  of  the  'buses  that  had  no  straps  on,  you 
know." 

"Straps  what  for?" 

"Because  the  general,  it  seems,  has  got  rheuma- 
tism. He  fancies  himself  in  motors,  and  he  wants 
to  be  able  to  catch  hold  of  any  old  car  that  comes 
along." 

"How  much  will  that  foolery  cost?"  asked 
Decante,  softly. 

"Three  or  four  hundred,  at  fifteen  francs 
apiece!" 

"And  who'll  pay  for  it?" 

"We  shall." 

"Ah,"  said  Thuillier,  "like  the  place  where 
H.  Q.  settled  down  at  Malo-Terminus.  They'd 
nearly  finished  it,  you  remember,  and  it's  a  funny 
thing  if  it  hadn't  cost  five  thousand  francs !" 

"And  then  some!" 

"C 's  father  arrives.  He  found  fault  with 

the  situation  on  sight,  and  his  first  action  was  to 
rent  the  nobbiest  villa  in  Rosendael.  Another 
removal  and  another  settling  down;  you  can 
guess  what  the  'unforeseen  expenses'  were!" 

"And  they  say  he'll  not  go  mouldy  here." 

"There'll  be  a  third,  and  he'll  change  again ! " 

"That's  where  our  poor  old  brass  goes ! " 

They  looked  at  each  other,  and  their  eyes 
gleamed  with  sarcastic  bitterness.  With  their 
mothers'  milk  these  men  had  imbibed  a  rude 
instinct  of  equality;  and  nothing  galled  them 
more  (unless  it  were  the  unbridled  arrogance  of 


192  A  Life  at  Stake 

these  petty  tyrants  who  surpassed  those  of  ancient 
days),  than  this  naboblike  pomp,  this  prodigality 
with  which  they  scattered  the  savings  of  simple 
folk  whose  horizon  showed  them  only  ruin  and 
wretchedness. 

Other  men  had  come  in  for  the  end  of  the  story, 
and  at  once  set  themselves  to  go  one  better. 
Delamarre  was  in  revolt  against  the  supplementary 
rations  assigned  to  officers:  "Have  they  got  four 
stomachs?" 

Clement  then  proceeded  to  backbite  the  flying 
men.  He  had  a  grudge  against  all  the  lot  of  them, 
since  his  girl,  they  said,  had  been  enticed  away 
by  a  famous  crack. 

"Those  are  chaps,  now,  that  play  ducks  and 
drakes  with  everything!"  He  quoted  incredible 
instances.  Petrol,  now;  they  knew  the  price  of 
it!  Well,  at  the  aviation  camp  when  they  were 
making  their  "juice"  in  the  morning,  didn't  they 
go  and  put  the  stove  to  heat  up  on  the  top  of  a 
bucket  that  contained  two  or  three  gallons?  In 
the  same  way,  too,  for  the  flares  that  had  to  mark 
by  night  the  four  corners  of  the  alighting-ground 
— they  found  it  more  convenient  now  to  set  fire 
to  big  drums,  with  men  taking  it  in  turns  to  pour 
in  the  petrol  wholesale. 

At  last  Gandolphe  reappeared  with  the  chief 
artificer.  Awakened  in  a  bad  temper,  he  declared 
that  he  had  not  been  warned  of  their  coming — and 
this  was  the  day  for  the  Customs  men  to  shoot ! 

Fauvel  was  unwilling  to  yield,  and  referred  to 


At  the  Firing-Grounds         193 

the  order  he  had  received  the  day  before.  In  his 
heart  he  was  beginning  to  see  that  he  had  made  a 
mistake.  The  note  said,  "at  the  firing-ground." 
That  was  away  yonder,  near  the  Western  Defence. 
No  matter ;  his  tabs  made  it  certain  that  he  could 
never  be  wrong,  and  aloud  he  blamed  an  orderly, 
and  promised  him  a  wigging. 

Otherwise,  and  as  long  as  they  were  there — 
So  the  men  were  taken  in  groups  of  four  to 
the  butts,  and  the  practice  began.  Beside  each 
group  a  non-com,  stood,  but  not  too  near,  because 
— Depussay  warned  his  comrades — with  such 
ancient  weapons  one  had  to  look  out  for  bursts. 

Most  of  the  men  were  quite  unfamiliar  with  this 
'74  rifle.  A  few  crippled  men  objected,  or  showed 
themselves  unable  to  shoulder  and  work  it. 
Nourion,  the  sinister  giant,  was  one  of  these,  and 
compliance  was  not  insisted  on  in  his  case.  The 
rest  were  startled  by  the  weapon's  violent  recoil 
and  the  flame  that  streamed  from  the  barrel. 
No  one  understood  its  sights.  The  adjutant 
gave  some  advice  which  was  found  to  be  incorrect. 
The  marking  was  defective  and  ranging  impossible. 
Besides,  a  heavy  smoke  soon  rose  and  cut  off  their 
view. 

Jean  had  "passed"  among  the  first.  He  was 
waiting,  as  he  tramped  up  and  down  in  the  mud, 
for  the  right  moment  to  approach  the  lieutenant, 
who  was  at  last  found  alone,  having  finished  a  joke 
with  Dezel£e  the  locksmith.  Darboise  went  up  to 
him,  but  just  as  he  opened  his  mouth,  Fauvel  said : 

13 


194  A  Life  at  Stake 

"I  say!  You're  the  man  I  was  wanting  a  chat 
with !  It's  serious,  this  about  you ! " 

"What  is  it  about,  lieutenant?" 

"There's — a  complaint  against  you,  at  the 
Textile." 

"How'sthat?" 

"Don't  pretend  to  be  surprised.  You  can't  be 
unaware  that  there's  a  report  against  you." 

"Official?" 

"Up  to  the  present,  there's  only  a  semi-official 
note  handed  me  by  Adjutant  Moulin.  But — " 
he  nodded  his  head — "I'm  wondering  if  I  must 
not  show  it  to  the  captain,  in  which  case  you'll 
find  yourself  in  a  pretty  mess!" 

Jean  wanted  to  shout  at  him — "Do  what  you 
like!  Give  me  away!"  but  he  controlled  himself, 
and  bit  his  lips:  "And  this  note — what  does  it 
say?" 

' '  It's  about  your  little  affair  at  the  wood  fatigue. 
It's  annoying,  you  know!  It  was  a  big  blunder 
on  your  part!" 

Darboise  had  an  intuition  that  Fauvel  would 
arrange  the  matter.  Not  a  bad  devil,  at  bottom! 
To  enable  him  to  judge,  Jean  told  him  about  the 
scene  at  the  bombardment,  and  the  anger  and 
malevolence  of  Dubus.  He  warmed  to  his  sub- 
ject, and  his  plea  seemed  to  him  so  powerful  and 
so  just  that  the  other  would  be  obliged  to  change 
his  tune. 

Nothing  of  the  sort.  When  he  had  finished, 
the  lieutenant  said : 


At  the  Firing-Grounds         195 

"You  must  understand  that  I  can't  go  into  all 
that  quibbling.  It  pays  us,  you  know,  to  be  on 
good  terms  with  the  Textile,  and  with  such  goings- 
on  as  yours — ah,  no!  The  captain  won't  pass 
that  over  easily!" 

"Then — you're  going  to  let  him  know?" 

"I  don't  know.  It's  a  serious  matter.  I  shall 
see.  It  will  depend  on  how  things  are  looking. 
But  if  Moulin  comes  in  the  end  to  rebuke  me  for 
not  doing  anything ' 

Darboise  understood  that  the  man  had  no 
other  object  than  to  torment  him  with  these 
hypocritical  menaces.  That  was  his  nature, 
quite.  Was  he  developing  scruples,  when  it  was 
known  that  he  did  as  he  pleased  with  the  detach- 
ment and  paid  no  attention  to  the  "old  man"? 
And  what  value  did  Moulin  set  on  that  bit  of 
paper? 

With  an  air  of  indifference,  the  lieutenant  went 
on :  "Another  matter — I  think  you'll  not  be  able 
to  sleep  in  the  town  any  longer." 

"Are  there — some  new  regulations?" 

"Nothing  absolutely  definite  yet.  You  under- 
stand that  it  won't  come  from  me.  I  don't  care  a 
damn.  But  it  seems  that  the  governor  is  going  to 
sign  a  strict  order.  I'm  telling  you  this,"  and  he 
winked  at  Jean,  "because — you  are  interested." 
As  Jean  pretended  to  be  unmoved,  he  went  on: 
"You've  got  your  wife  there.  Don't  deny  it;  I 
know.  I've  seen  her.  For  that  matter,  every- 
body knows.  You  make  yourself  noticed  with 


196  A  Life  at  Stake 

her."  He  whistled.  "So  if  trouble  comes  your 
way  over  it,  well !" 

Turning  on  his  heels,  Fauvel  left  Jean  over- 
mastered. Monade  was  strolling  up  and  down 
not  far  away,  and  he  decided  to  go  and  sound  him : 
"The  lieutenant's  been  talking  to  me  in  a  funny 
way  about  my  wife!  Is  it  true  that  people  are 
tattling  as  much  as  all  that?" 

The  adjutant  sniffed  awkwardly:  "Well,  she's 
been  there  a  long  time  already,  you  know,  Madame 
Darboise  has.  Perhaps  she'd  do  best  to  go.  It's 
a  pity  the  lieutenant  knows ' 

"He  wouldn't  sneak  on  me,  all  the  same?" 

"Hum!  He  doesn't  fancy  you,  and  you'd 
better  be  careful." 

"Would  he  go  as  far  as  that?" 

"Just  lately,  especially.  Why,  I've  spoken  to 
him  about  you  several  times  for  the  sanitary- 
fatigue,  and  he  sends  me  to  the  right-about — 
'Darboise?  A  pretender,  a  humbug,  a  little 
gentleman  that  wants  a  lesson'!" 

As  the  men  were  not  returning  to  the  Port  till  the 
afternoon,  Jean  made  his  escape  at  lunch-time.  In 
vexation  he  told  Andree  what  had  happened :  his 
hopes  for  a  change  of  work,  gone;  and  this  Fauvel, 
another  of  the  ugly  devils !  "  Is  it  because  I  didn't 
bring  him  here  and  introduce  him  to  you?" 

"Listen,"  said  Andree,  "I'm  afraid  I've  some- 
thing to  do  with  it."  She  confessed  the  tramcar 
incident,  when  a  lieutenant  had  noticed  her,  fol- 
lowed her,  and  accosted  her. 


At  the  Firing-Grounds         197 

"Tall,  thin,  clean  shaved?" 

"That's  it!" 

Jean  had  no  doubt  about  it.  In  a  tone  of  sud- 
den bitterness  he  said :  ' '  It's  idiotic !  You  ought 
to  have  warned  me!" 

He  had  not  accustomed  her  to  that  way  of 
speaking,  and  she  rebelled:  "I  thought  I  did 
right;  and  if  you  speak  to  me  like  that —  — !" 

In  the  next  two  rejoinders  their  voices  got 
higher;  there  was  almost  one  of  the  scenes  that 
were  so  rare  between  them.  They  cut  it  short, 
but  during  the  whole  hour  that  they  had  to  spend 
together,  a  mutual  enervation  kept  them  sulky, 
pouting,  warlike. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  going.  She  showed 
herself  the  more  sensible,  as  usual,  and  went  to 
kiss  him:  "Bad  boy!  Is  that  the  way  to  spoil 
the  last  moments  left  to  us?" 

Quickly  disarmed,  he  smiled  on  her.  He  had 
no  one  but  her.  But,  repeating  to  her  Monade's 
advice,  he  thought  he  ought  to  back  it.  What 
grief  it  meant  for  him!  (But  the  other  anxiety 
was  haunting  him.)  Alas,  it  was  necessary  all  the 
same  to  decide  on  the  day  of  her  going.  He  would 
go  and  see  Lavigne  tomorrow  about  the  permit. 

"Ah,  what  a  hurry  you're  in !" 

"My  darling,  don't  let's  begin  again!" 

But  it  tore  his  heart  that  she,  poor  love,  should 
see  it. 


CHAPTER  II 

SICK   LEAVE 

THEY  had  just  told  Darboise  that  the  captain 
had  sent  for  him. 

Since  their  interview  at  the  beginning,  Jean 
had  avoided  even  crossing  the  old  man's  track. 
Sent  for  by  him !  What  new  blow  was  this  ?  He 
went  up  to  the  Bureau.  In  the  next  room  he 
could  hear  Papa  Meunier  storming  against  Nivard 
the  orderly — one  of  his  favourites:  "/  shall 
bear  you  in  mind!"  he  was  shouting:  "A  nice 
thing  indeed !  To  let  my  maggots  get  eaten  up ! " 

The  man  was  making  excuses:  "It  was  that 
dog  that  came  with  the  adjutant  while  I  was  at 
the  telephone." 

"The  adjutant?  He  hasn't  been  here!  Ah,  I 
see,  you're  tipsy,  my  friend " 

Nivard  had  just  started  to  open  the  door,  but  he 
turned  round  on  the  insult:  "Old  ass!"  he  said, 
half-aloud,  so  that  the  deaf  officer  would  not  hear 
him.  Then  aloud  and  angrily:  "I'm  not  tipsy! 
And  even  if  they  were  eaten,  the  maggots  are 
mine!" 

"Yours?     How,  yours?" 
198 


Sick  Leave  199 

"Because  I  bought  them  and  paid  for  them  with 
my  own  money." 

The  captain  went  crimson:  "Aha!  You're 
grousing,  are  you?  You'll  have  eight  days' 
imprisonment. ' ' 

Nivard  left  the  room  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
Stopping  in  the  Bureau,  he  said  to  the  "chief," 
who  was  absorbed  in  a  return:  "Drunk,  am  I? 
It's  a  sad  business  to  hear  that  puppet  talk ! " 

He  turned  to  Jean:  "Eight  days!  I'll  be  even 
with  him!  He'll  never  dare  put  them  down  for 
me — seeing  what  I  know !  The  day  after  I  went 
into  the  clink,  likely  he'd  go  in  too!" 

The  lieutenant  appeared:  "What  are  you  do- 
ing there,  Darboise?" 

"The  captain  has  sent  for  me.  Is  it — for  that 
affair?" 

' '  Don't  think  so ! "  Fauvel's  gesture  was  worthy 
of  Pontius  Pilate. 

The  "chief"  raised  his  head:  "Go  in,  Dar- 
boise; he's  waiting  for  you." 

The  captain  was  seated,  and  the  forehead  of  his 
comical  old  face  was  wrinkled.  When  he  saw  the 
new-comer,  he  steadied  his  eye-glass:  "Ah,  it's 
you — the  famous  young  man!"  he  said,  in  his 
always  grotesquely  nasal  tone:  "You  don't  seem 
to  care  a  damn  for  me ?  I've  received  yet  another 
letter  from  your  friend,  Captain  Mascard " 

Jean  was  astounded:  "I  didn't  know — "  he 
began. 

"A  letter,  yes,  a  letter  in  which  he  asks  me — I 


I 
200  A  Life  at  Stake 

don't  know  what — to  change  your  fatigue.  It's 
beginning  to  annoy  me!  Does  he  think  I've 
nothing  else  to  do  but  answer  him?  And  you? 
What  are  you  complaining  for?" 

By  a  sign  Jean  conveyed  that  he  was  grumbling 
about  nothing.  To  himself  he  was  wondering 
how  this  could  have — ah,  an  idea !  It  was  probably 
little  Vechaud,  of  the  "refrigerator"  who,  having 
heard  his  wish  concerning  the  "sanitary  fatigue" 
thought  he  would  do  him  a  good  turn  and  write  to 
his  protector  at  F . 

The  captain  started  up.  The  poor  fellow  was 
liable  to  become  suddenly  uncontrollable,  even 
without  apparent  provocation,  like  a  vicious  horse. 
Pointing  to  the  door,  he  said:  "Take  your 
damned  hook!  After  what  I  told  you,  it's  the 
trick  of  a  churl.  Darboise,  Jean  Darboise,  I  shall 
bear  you  in  mind;  and  the  next  time  I  shall  not 
let  you  off!" 

Jean  went  out,  white  with  anger.  The  worst  of 
it  was  that  Fauvel  gripped  him  and  went  out  on 
to  the  landing  with  him:  "So  that's  what  it  is!" 
He  waited  a  minute:  "And  if  I'd  shown  him 
Moulin 's  note,  eh  ?  I'm  still  a  decent  sort,  eh,  eh  ? " 

Darboise,  turning  whiter,  had  to  thank  him  as 
he  left — still  another  sacrifice  for  Andree !  And  she 
was  going  away!  He  would  be  left  alone  in  the 
midst  of  this  hostile  crowd.  He  turned  dizzy, 
now  and  then,  as  though  on  the  brink  of  an  infernal 
chasm. 


Sick  Leave  201 

He  had  caught  cold  at  that  imbecile  rifle- 
practice.  The  men's  hair  had  been  given  a 
"prison  crop"  on  Valentin's  disdainful  order,  and 
after  the  catarrh  had  lasted  for  three  days,  with 
swollen  nose  and  weeping  eyes,  his  delicate  lungs 
began  to  be  affected  and  he  felt  sure  he  was  in  for 
it.  He  woke  up  one  morning  with  a  hoarse  cough 
and  a  sense  of  oppression. 

And  on  that  day  exactly — he  went  to  work  in 
spite  of  Andree's  protests — almost  all  of  his  fatigue 
party  were  put  on  to  unloading  a  cold-storage 
boat,  arrived  from  Argentina.  Pleading  his  condi- 
tion, in  vain  he  asked  for  different  employment 
for  that  day.  Corporal  Goguenard  offered  to 
take  him  and  refer  the  matter  to  the  adjutant  of 
the  day — Dubus !  He  did  not  insist. 

What  a  job  this  was,  too !  Divided  into  teams 
of  four,  they  had  first  to  lift  and  stack  on  their 
trolley  the  enormous  chunks  of  meat  that  the  huge 
steam  crane  gathered  in  a  net,  with  a  metallic 
rattling,  from  the  bowels  of  the  ship,  kept  sus- 
pended for  a  little  while,  and  then  dropped  on 
the  quay  in  a  shapeless  mass.  In  its  wrapping 
of  grey  linen,  each  weighed  about  two  hundred 
pounds.  One  could  roughly  make  out,  as  the 
hands  tightened  on  them,  the  feet  and  the  shape 
of  the  animals — the  sections  of  calves,  the  quarters 
of  oxen.  It  was  a  horrible  task  to  handle  these 
great  bags,  covered  with  an  icy  glaze,  in  which 
there  seemed  to  be  mingled  a  kind  of  sticky 
ooze,  proceeding  from  the  dead  flesh;  and  the 


202  A  Life  at  Stake 

foetid  penetrating  smell  of  stale  blood  turned  one 
sick. 

When  the  trolley  was  full,  it  was  pushed  to  the 
hoist,  which  lifted  one  along  with  it  to  the  first 
or  second  floor.  There  they  stood  for  a  moment 
in  front  of  the  heavy  leather  curtain  which  closed 
the  entry  to  the  chambers.  This  was  then  drawn 
aside,  and  a  surly  corporal  growled,  "Quick!" 

Darboise  was  curious  when  on  his  first  trip  he 
entered  these  vast  rooms  which  only  the  humble 
light  of  infrequent  electric  globes  pervaded,  and 
where  there  were  twelve  degrees  below  zero  of 
artificial  cold.  Some  of  his  pals  were  ranging  the 
quarters  of  meat  along  partitioned  shelves,  and 
the  unfortunate  men  were  freezing  where  they 
stood.  Unwarned  of  their  destination,  and  un- 
provided with  warm  clothing,  they  were  reduced, 
between  the  coming  of  the  trolleys,  to  stamping 
their  feet,  while  several  older  men  ran  round  the 
room  like  children.  Among  others  there,  Jean 
noticed  Navarro,  a  man  who  was  not  likely  to 
grow  old  in  any  case. 

Twenty  times  in  the  morning,  and  as  many  in 
the  afternoon,  Darboise  had  to  face  the  brutal 
transition  between  the  two  temperatures.  To- 
wards the  middle  of  the  day  he  was  seized  with 
light  shivering.  Vechaud,  meeting  him,  noticed 
how  bad  he  looked,  and  strongly  urged  him  to 
ask  to  be  relieved. 

Foolishly  Jean  persisted,  in  the  fear  of  having 
to  deal  with  Dubus.  In  the  evening,  the  ther- 


Sick  Leave  203 

mometer  that  Andr6e  insisted  on  indicated  high 
fever.  She  was  uneasy,  and  passed  the  night 
in  putting  poultices  on  him.  She  was  well  versed 
in  such  matters,  having  nursed  him  through  that 
winter  at  Cavalaire — nursed  him  too  well,  perhaps, 
for  the  Army  had  taken  him  again  when  he  was 
better. 

"Ah,  you  won't  go  to  work  tomorrow!" 

4 'That  depends!" 

In  the  morning  the  thermometer  recorded  37 
exactly — a  severe  but  ordinary  cold,  and  nothing 
alarming.  But  he  preferred  to  get  up  and  go  to 
inspection  rather  than  bother  the  major. 

Corentin  tapped  him  and  sounded  him,  and 
was  forced  to  admit  that  there  was  something: 
"Tincture  of  iodine  and  hot  drinks;  two  days' 
exemption  from  duty." 

During  the  forty-eight  hours  which  he  spent 
at  the  Rue  Jules  Ferry,  Jean  let  himself  be  coddled 
at  leisure.  Remembering  the  doctor's  advice  of 
last  autumn,  An  dree  worried  him  to  have  his  tem- 
perature taken  every  six  hours. 

Was  it  due  to  the  condition  of  influenza  ?  Two 
days  running,  the  instrument  rose  to  38.  "It's 
too  high,  too  high!"  she  said  in  alarm;  "I  wonder 
if  you're  often  like  that!" 

She  made  him  put  his  boots  on  and  took  him 
to  the  chemist  hard  by,  where  he  was  weighed — 
over  four  pounds  lost  since  he  came  to  Dunkerque. 
They  returned  in  anxiety ;  it  was  a  menace.  No- 
thing was  impossible.  He  always  remembered 


204  A  Life  at  Stake 

his  father,  whom  the  insidious  disease  laid  low  in 
several  months  as  he  neared  his  fortieth  year. 
And  he  remembered  how  his  mother  right  up 
to  the  poor  woman's  death-bed,  besought  her  Jean 
always  to  be  watchful  in  the  matter.  Certainly 
he  was  leading  a  terrible  life.  The  climate  was 
severe  and  the  food  indifferent,  and  after  that 
last  attack 

"It's  an  awful  nuisance,"  he  sighed. 

"Be  quiet,  you  big  donkey!  Perhaps  it's  the 
best  thing  that  could  happen  to  you." 

"What?" 

Andree  shook  him.  Come  now !  If  he  became 
really  ill,  they  would  send  him  away  from  the 
zone  of  war  or  they  would  invalid 1  him  out  of  the 
service.  One  of  the  two ! 

' '  Well,  invalid !  That '  s  what  you  are !  You '  ve 
only  got  to  speak,  and  show  yourself." 

He  was  doubtful.  She  argued  with  him.  Let 
any  doctor  only  verify  the  symptoms,  this  losing 
weight,  to  begin  with.  Seriously,  too,  she  spoke 
of  the  night-time  sweating,  that  she  had  noticed 
in  him  lately,  though  only  slight  as  yet.  She  did 
so  well  that  in  a  few  hours  her  suggestions  began 
to  take  effect.  Let  them  turn  to  account  the  good 
luck  that  presented  itself!  It  was  possible!  It 
was  necessary ! 

The  prospect  was  intoxicating ;  to  fly  in  her  dear 
company  from  that  sullen  northern  land  where  the 

1  This  is  suspension  rather  than  discharge,  and  carries  reduced 
pay  with  it. — TR. 


Sick  Leave  205 

sun  never  shone  brightly  and  the  sea  was  never 
blue !  Invalided  ?  Perhaps  he  would  get  it !  He 
would  be  liberated  from  bondage,  and  would  again 
be  able  to  stand  erect,  to  live,  and  to  dream,  far 
from  the  barbarians.  When  he  had  been  invalided 
before,  was  he  any  more  menaced  than  now  ?  But 
he  must  be  artful  and  make  the  best  of  his  "case." 
There  need  be  no  compunction;  his  futile  arm 
bore  him  striking  witness  that  he  had  done  his 
bit.  Already  he  breathed  the  sweetness  of  liberty 
regained.  They  would  finish  their  summer  at 
Sceaux,  watching  Memo's  capers — he  was  begin- 
ning to  talk;  or  what  about  hunting  up  a  cheap 
seaside  place  down  in  far-off  Brittany?  Like 
some  wretch  lost  within  the  dark  labyrinth  of  a 
mine,  who  glimpses  the  daylight  at  the  end  of  a 
last  gallery,  his  heart  beat  wildly. 


CHAPTER  III 

BITTERNESS   AND  HATRED 

So  Jean  went  again  to  inspection,  conscious  of 
the  big  part  he  was  playing. 

That  morning,  Corentin  did  not  seem  to  be  ill 
disposed.  He  exempted  Jean  right  away  for 
three  more  days.  When  his  comrades  had  filed 
out,  Darboise  presented  himself  again. 

"What  do  you  want?" 

Skilfully  and  clearly  he  detailed  to  the  surgeon 
the  signs  which  were  troubling  him.  The  major 
did  not  snub  him:  "When  I  examined  you  the 
other  day,  I  saw  quite  clearly  that  you're  not 
sound."  He  added:  "This  climate  isn't  good 
for  you,  assuredly!" 

Jean  was  thrilled — then,  then?  Would  he 
nominate  him ? 

After  a  moment  of  silence,  Corentin,  suddenly 
nervous,  said:  "Oh,  my  position  here,  how  vexing 
it  is!  I  would  rather  go  back  to  the  front  lines 
than  do  the  job  I'm  doing  here!" 

Jean  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and  the  little 
major,  as  if  in  spite  of  himself,  opened  his  heart 
and  made  confession.  Ah,  he  was  between  the 

206 


Bitterness  and  Hatred         207 

devil  and  the  deep  sea!  Certainly,  he  was  ready 
enough  to  pronounce  them  all  ill,  all  "to  be  used 
carefully,"  these  cripples  and  cachectics,  the 
regular  subscribers  at  "inspection,"  as  well  as 
those  who  put  themselves  on  the  sick  list  in  weari- 
ness when  they  saw  no  sign  of  the  return  of  their 
day  off  after  two  or  even  three  weeks.  Three- 
quarters  of  them  ought  to  be  sent  home — there 
was  nothing  to  be  got  out  of  them !  On  the  other 
hand,  if  he  was  allowed  to  stay  in  St.  Pol,  and 
found  it  convenient  to  stay  there,  with  his  little 
lady  friend,  well,  that  was  a  good  deal,  was  it  not? 
— thanks  to  the  captain  and  the  lieutenant,  and 
indeed  all  the  staff,  who  had  declared  him  indispens- 
able and  had  procured  him  his  stripe !  (A  report 
had  been  going  about  of  insufficient  medical 
enrolment,  and  that  there  was  a  "little  list. ") 

"Well  then,  put  yourself  in  my  place!  Papa 
Meunier  makes  it  a  point  of  honour  not  to  let  a 
single  one  of  his  men  in  the  Depot  go  back.  To 
invalid  any  of  them  is  to  give  him  a  personal 
affront!  And  Fauvel!  You  know  that  we  lunch 
together.  He  makes  a  face  as  long  as  that  when 
I've  'passed  sick'  too  many  of  the  poor  lads!" 

Jean  listened,  and  forced  himself  diplomatically 
into  an  appearance  of  appreciation.  He  still 
hoped,  for  the  other  had  not  said  "No!"  And 
indeed  Corentin  ended  by  saying:  "Listen;  I 
can't  take  the  responsibility  on  myself.  But 
there's  one  of  your  companions,  an  animal  called 
Morel,  who  has  just  asked,  against  my  advice,  for 


208  A  Life  at  Stake 

a  re-examination.  He'll  get  some  salt  on  his  tail! 
But  any  way  I  can  put  you  down  at  the  same  time 
that  I  do  him." 

Jean  could  only  jump  at  the  offer,  and  Andree 
approved  of  his  doing  so. 

The  next  day,  Sergeant  Bousquet  led  the  two 
of  them  to  the  Clearing  Hospital.  Jean  had  to 
wait  for  his  companion,  who  hobbled.  He  was 
well  known  to  him,  old  Papa  Morel;  he  had  al- 
ways had  the  job  of  cleaner  at  the  quarters  ever 
since  his  arrival. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  to  the  major?" 
Jean  asked  him. 

"Ah,  that  damned  re-examination!  I  ought  to 
have  known  it  would  turn  out  so;  I  ought  never 
to  have  asked  for  it ! " 

He  had  undergone  operation  for  a  double  rup- 
ture, of  which  one  was  serious,  and  already  he 
wore  numerous  bandages.  So  fright  had  seized 
him  the  other  day,  when  he  discovered  two  new 
swellings.  "Well,  that  makes  four;  that's  all," 
said  the  major,  superbly  cool,  as  he  dismissed  him. 
He,  the  most  concerned,  did  not  think  he  had 
acted  so  wrongly  in  asking  for  another  examina- 
tion, so  as  to  be  satisfied  about  his  condition.  But 
Corentin  would  not  admit  it,  and  on  the  card 
shown  to  him,  he  had  scribbled  with  surly  pen: 
"This  man  was  employed  as  caretaker  at  quarters. 
His  request  for  re-examination  does  not  appear 
justified  to  me." 

"With  that  note,  I  can  see  him  in  a  tight  corner ! " 


Bitterness  and  Hatred         209 

the  "chief"  had  murmured  as  he  handed  it  to 
Bousquet.  And  Morel,  gentle  and  fearful,  shiv- 
ered with  apprehension  all  along  the  road  as  he 
prepared  his  arguments. 

Darboise,  thanks  to  the  faculty  for  detachment 
which  was  useful  to  him  in  even  the  most  serious 
situations,  and  almost  in  spite  of  himself,  interested 
himself  in  his  neighbour's  ' '  case. ' '  With  a  sort  of 
cynical  delight,  he  was  expecting  to  see  a  master- 
piece of  iniquity  perpetrated. 

When  the  big  major  called  the  name  "Morel," 
his  tone  was  already  one  of  concentrated  anger. 

The  unfortunate  man  rose  from  his  seat  and 
went  forward,  frozen  with  fear. 

"Will  you  hurry  up — damnation ! " 

With  bent  back,  stiff  legs,  and  his  stomach 
twitching,  Morel  hastened  forward. 

"What  is  it?    What's  the  matter  with  you?" 

The  major  had  seized  him  by  the  arm.  As 
the  poor  wretch  was  fumbling  in  his  pockets,  the 
other  shouted:  "Are  you  going  to  answer?" 

Jean  had  come  nearer,  to  follow  the  details  of 
the  scene  that  was  so  cruelly  instructive  for  him ! 

He  saw  Morel  unfasten  his  braces  with  his 
benumbed  and  trembling  fingers,  and  let  his 
trousers  down.  And  he  was  seized  with  com- 
passion before  the  nakedness  of  that  semi-old  man. 
Morel  was  forty-seven  years;  his  legs  were  bowed 
and  thin.  Awkward  and  stumbling,  he  climbed 
on  to  the  table  and  lay  flat,  with  his  shirt  turned 
back.  Over  the  scarred  old  belly,  where  one  of 


210  A  Life  at  Stake 

the  new  lumps  was  already  big  as  one's  fist,  the 
big  major  bent  his  sallow  and  brutal  face.  His 
fingers  groped  and  rubbed,  wringing  feeble  moans 
from  the  victim. 

"Hum!  Nothing  much!"  he  said,  his  glance 
consulting  his  two  colleagues,  surgeons  of  sub- 
altern grade  who  acquiesced  in  advance. 

"Your  business?"  he  asked. 

"Wall-paper  dealer,"  said  Morel. 

"Dress  yourself,"  said  the  major,  with  lordly 
contempt. 

And  taking  the  ticket  in  his  hand,  he  wrote  out 
this  perfidious  verdict:  "Cannot  do  hard  work. 
Can  continue  his  employment  at  quarters." 

Darboise's  turn.  To  him  were  spared  at  least 
the  rudeness  of  address,  for  they  had  guessed 
him  to  be  a  young  man  of  the  middle  class  who 
might  number  an  M.  P.  among  his  friends.  But 
still  the  arrogant,  foolish  face  of  the  chief  surgeon 
was  visibly  shut  already  to  the  slightest  feeling  of 
benevolence.  He  tapped  the  subject's  back,  then 
his  shoulder-blades  and  clavicles.  He  made  him 
count—' '  Thirty,  thirty-one " 

"A  little  difficulty  in  respiration;  nothing 
more."  He  turned  to  his  two-striped  colleague, 
who  smiled,  and  by  way  of  pleasing,  said:  "Who 
of  us  has  not?" 

"Four-stripes"  scratched  "To  be  used  care- 
fully" on  the  note  and  returned  it  to  the  sergeant. 

"Is  that  all,  major?"  said  Darboise. 

"That's  all.     Come,  trot!    Break  off!" 


Bitterness  and  Hatred          211 

Jean  went  back,  and  found  Andree  waiting 
anxiously.  And  it  was  then  only  that  he  felt  the 
severity  of  the  blow,  after  the  great  hope  that  had 
sustained  him  for  two  days. 

Despondency  followed  which  he  could  not  sur- 
mount, either  that  day  or  the  following  ones. 
And  Andree  herself  overcome,  failed  this  time  to 
comfort  him.  There  was  no  more  hope  before 
them,  now  that  the  apparently  final  rupture  with 
Chinard  brought  to  an  end  the  overtures  which 
might  have  recalled  Jean  to  Paris.  For  him,  then, 
it  was  to  be  St.  Pol,  the  Textile,  the  Bakery, 
without  remission,  till  the  end  of  the  war,  that 
end  which  now  appeared,  after  the  thrill  of  hope 
at  the  beginning  of  July,  to  be  once  more  in- 
definitely distant. 

With  what  hatred  for  the  state  of  things  and 
for  his  lot  did  Jean  feel  himself  overwhelmed !  A 
fatal  era,  when  humanity  was  degraded  under  a  rule 
of  iron!  In  furious  tirades  or  ferocious  sallies, 
he  breathed  forth  his  bitterness  and  made  up  the 
balance-sheet  of  what  the  war  had  been  worth  to 
him: 

Item,  two  wounds  of  which  the  second  left  him 
maimed  for  life,  partly  deprived  of  the  use  of  a 
limb,  he  who  was  once  so  proud  of  his  nimbleness, 
of  his  physical  amplitude.  Item,  this  lung  weak- 
ness, which  he  would  drag  with  him  all  through 
life,  which  had  prepared  the  way  for  the  disease 
that  would  perhaps  put  him  to  sleep  underground 
in  a  few  years  or  perhaps  months.  Item,  their 


212  A  Life  at  Stake 

little  capital  seriously  curtailed,  on  which  they 
had  thought  they  could  depend,  while  waiting  for 
success,  to  escape  from  employment  of  merely 
pecuniary  interest;  their  capital  now  rapidly 
sinking  towards  zero.  Item,  his  career  shackled 
and  retarded.  Spoiled,  under  that  rod  of  iron  and 
amidst  the  stupefying  effects  of  severe  manual 
labour,  those  most  fruitful  years  of  youth  when  the 
mind  should  be  growing  wider  and  richer.  Lost, 
his  taste  for  the  things  of  the  spirit;  fading,  his 
confidence  in  his  own  ability.  Those  hands  of  his 
bruised  and  hardened  and  full  of  callosities,  those 
hands  always  greasy  and  dirty,  would  they  ever 
again  be  worthy  to  hold  and  direct  the  graver? 
And  last  of  all,  he  perceived  confusedly  a  loss  still 
less  replaceable — his  freshness  of  mind,  his  opti- 
mism, an  injury  which  was  drawing  out  of  his  life 
so  much  significance  and  savour. 

He,  the  enthusiast  of  but  yesterday,  believing 
in  the  beauty  of  things  and  the  goodness  of  beings 
— what  leaven  of  bitterness  and  hatred  had  fer- 
mented in  his  heart!  He  envied  the  child  he 
had  been,  even  while  pitying  him.  He  paid 
homage  to  his  wife  who,  more  mature  and 
more  far-sighted  than  himself,  had  always  insisted 
on  the  universal  harshness  of  the  human  animal, 
its  inborn  coldness,  its  instinct  for  oppression. 
He  had  now  at  a  bound  surpassed  her  in  his  fero- 
cious judgments.  It  had  needed  the  war  to  stir 
up  the  evil  deeps  in  which  his  soul,  like  so  many 
others,  now  felt  itself  submerged. 


Bitterness  and  Hatred         213 

Jean  even  took  affright ;  and  truly,  if  one  scanned 
with  clairvoyant  eye  all  his  environment  was 
there  reason  for  aught  but  scorn  and  disgust  in 
either  the  play  or  the  actors?  Since  he  came 
to  Dunkerque,  had  he  met  a  single  one  of  those 
good,  honest,  intelligent  people  who  make  one 
love  his  species?  Not  one,  among  either  his 
chiefs  or  his  companions.  Cowardly  and  evil 
natures,  people  of  no  conscience;  not  one  friend. 
Cazenave?  But  had  not  the  Bordelais  quietly 
dropped  him  since  he  had  lost  his  prestige?  Mon- 
ade?  Would  he  ever  have  taken  his  part  against 
the  lieutenant?  Oh,  that  gang  of  narrow-minded, 
jealous,  egotistical  people!  That  clown  of  a 
captain  and  that  sneaking  lieutenant! — the  little 
vain  and  cowardly  major,  the  unprincipled  sur- 
geons at  the  Clearing  Hospital,  supercilious  and 
brutal!  Yet  these  were  of  his  race  and  nation. 
Frenchmen  all!  He  repeated  the  word  aloud. 
France,  the  sacred  land  of  fraternity  and  light — 
to  what  was  she  fallen ! 

He  clasped  his  wife  in  his  arms.  Seized  with 
remorse,  he  had  despairingly  entreated  her  to  stay 
yet  a  few  days,  at  least  until  the  imminent  com- 
mencement of  the  night  shift. 

His  days  of  "exemption  from  duty"  were  draw- 
ing to  a  close.  On  the  last  evening,  haunted  by 
memories  and  evil  premonitions,  he  worked  himself 
up  to  a  high  pitch  of  excitement,  and  overflowed 
in  childish  vagaries.  It  was  all  humbug  about  the 
"motherland"  and  "his  country!"  Anything  at 


214  A  Life  at  Stake 

all  to  escape  from  that  gaol!  Did  they  refuse 
to  pronounce  him  ill?  Very  well,  what  about 
finding  a  way  to  become  seriously  so?  It  would 
not  be  difficult  in  his  enfeebled  condition.  He 
would  only  have  to  forego  nourishment,  to  exhaust 
himself  with  fatigue,  to  expose  himself  to  heat  and 
cold!  And  then — the  thrice-happy  suspension! 
From  that  idea  his  imagination  spurred  him 
towards  bolder  remedies,  more  dangerous,  more 
absurd.  He  would  claim  his  leave — his  turn 
would  come  in  a  month — for  the  Eastern  Pyrenees, 
and  there  chance  the  lot !  Try — to  cross  the  fron- 
tier; his  wife  could  join  him  in  Spain  and  bring 
the  little  one,  and  they  would  go  to  South  America, 
where  a  youthful,  rich,  and  art-loving  people 
thrives  in  sunshine. 

Andree  felt  the  futility  of  the  schemes  so  reck- 
lessly budding  in  the  poor  agitated  brain.  She 
cuddled  against  her  husband,  and  lulled  him  with 
loving  words ;  talked  to  him  of  their  Momo,  whose 
prowess  and  progress  were  religiously  related  for 
them  in  grandma's  daily  letter.  It  broke  her 
heart  that  she  would  soon  be  leaving  him,  her 
Jean,  in  that  collapsed  condition — her  handsome 
Jean,  whose  proud  and  confident  smile  had  once  so 
often  comforted  her  in  her  fits  of  pessimism.  And 
yet — it  flattered  her,  it  stirred  her  innermost 
fibres,  that  it  was  to  her  alone  that  he  clung  with 
heartbroken  fervour  in  the  depths  of  his  distress. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  FLIGHT   OF  ANDREE 

IN  his  rank  in  the  mournful  troop,  Darboise  was 
returning  through  the  dunes,  after  another  bad  day. 

It  was  the  "fodder  fatigue"  that  day.  Five 
or  six  of  them,  all  more  or  less  crippled,  had 
protested  first  thing  in  the  morning  that  they  were 
not  fit  to  shoulder  from  the  crane  to  the  hay- 
stacks the  bales  that  weighed  nearly  two  hundred 
pounds ;  so  a  little  company  of  grousers  had  formed 
several  days  since  and  had  pleasantly  christened 
themselves  the  Go-easy  Brigade.  Darboise  was 
the  only  middle-class  man  of  the  party,  which 
included  Thuillier,  Gautier  Charles  the  zinc- 
worker,  and  Decante,  the  sight  of  whom  was  a 
set-off  against  that  of  Liebal.  These  gentlemen 
prided  themselves  on  passing  the  time  in  gossip, 
on  working  with  their  heads  only.  They  were  the 
pet  aversion  of  the  non-coms.,  who  nevertheless 
tacitly  avoided  anything  that  might  provoke  a  row. 
Sergeant  Gandolphe  was  the  only  one  of  them 
whom  the  group  looked  upon  favourably.  He 
often  intervened  in  favour  of  the  "cripples!" 
That  morning  again  he  had  confronted  Dubus 

215 


216  A  Life  at  Stake 

and  succeeded  in  getting  them  withdrawn  from 
the  team  of  carriers  and  put  on  to  chopping  up 
the  piled  hay. 

The  Go-easy  Brigade  lazed  till  lunch-time. 
Gandolphe,  detained  two  hundred  yards  away, 
could  only  once  pass  their  way:  "I  say,"  he 
protested,  uneasily,  "that's  not  gone  far,  boys!" 
(There  was  three  hours'  work  in  it.) 

"Don't  worry,  sergeant.  It'll  be  finished  this 
evening,  easily!" 

He  had  not  returned.  And,  anyway,  it  would 
not  rain  tonight,  so  the  job  was  in  no  hurry! 
The  afternoon  began  in  the  same  idleness. 

Jean  had  begun  to  look  through  a  number  of 
the  Quotidien.  Monday?  Why,  that  was  the 
day  for  Chinard's  drawing !  Yes,  it  was  spreading 
itself  over  the  front  page,  a  drawing  which  showed 
a  couple  of  soft -jobbers  sipping  a  liqueur,  with  the 
title,  "Think  of  the  Future!"  and  this  legend  fol- 
lowing: "What  shall  you  do  to  get  out  of  it, 
when  the  next  war  comes  ? — I  ?  I  shall  assassinate 
Jaures!" 

The  drawing  seemed  weak  and  conventional  to 
Jean.  He  was  bent  on  seeking  its  faults  when  a 
voice  behind  him  made  him  start : 

' '  Hey,  now !     There's  a  good-for-nothing ! ' ' 

It  was  Dubus,  pipe  in  mouth,  and  his  mastiff 
at  his  heels,  as  always,  nose  to  ground. 

Jean  glanced  at  his  companions.  Warned  in 
time,  each  had  grabbed  the  corner  of  a  tarpaulin 
and  busied  himself.  He  alone,  ' '  pinched ! ' ' 


The  Flight  of  Andree          217 

"Why,  I  know  him,"  the  adjutant  went  on. 
"Always  the  same  men!  Hey,  sergeant!"  He 
turned  towards  Gandolphe,  who  ran  up,  scenting 
a  storm. 

1 '  The  name  of  this  man  ? ' ' 

"Darboise,"  said  the  sergeant,  without  hesita- 
tion— for  which  Jean  felt  spiteful. 

"Good,  good." 

Dubus  had  produced  his  greasy  note-book. 
"This  time  he  will  understand  the  reason  for  his 
punishment.  As  for  you,  Gandolphe,  I  shall 
mention  you  as  responsible.  I've  had  enough  of 
it!" 

Dubus  went  away  again,  furious.  In  a  few 
days  Jean  might  expect  to  hear 

Would  they  believe  him?  What  irritated  him 
most  was  the  severe  reprimand  which  Gandolphe 
gave  him  in  the  presence  of  his  comrades. 

Arrived  at  quarters,  Jean  was  astonished  to  see 
a  note  written  on  the  duty-list:  "Joseph  Morel, 
eight  days'  imprisonment,  by  order  of  Captain 
Meunier,  commanding  the  detachment.  Reason: 
Having  insisted  on  a  re-examination  in  which  he 
was  not  found  unfit." 

Jean  forgot  his  own  troubles.  He  could  not 
help  saying  aloud :  ' '  It's  disgraceful,  that.  I  was 
there,  and  saw  what  happened." 

Decante  read  the  notice,  and  said,  jeeringly: 
"With  a  'reason'  like  that  one,  he'll  not  stop  at  a 
fortnight!" 

"And  the  best  of  it  is, "  added  Clement,  "that 


2  is  A  Life  at  Stake 

Corentin  has  recommended  him  for  a  fighting 
unit,  in  revenge!" 

New  arrivals  were  hurrying  up.  The  incident 
did  not  count  for  much  among  the  poor  devils 
who  were  used  to  all  sorts  of  injustice.  They 
jostled  each  other  to  see  the  list,  which  was  pinned 
up  in  a  corner,  of  the  men  appointed  for  the  night- 
shift  at  the  "bakery"  on  Saturday,  five  days 
hence.  Jean  had  seen  his  name  and  so  he  withdrew 
from  the  scrimmage.  Saturday?  Would  he  not 
be  in  prison  ?  And  that  was  the  date,  so  often 
postponed,  of  Andree's  departure.  Bah !  Setting 
off  with  long  strides  for  the  lodging  in  the  Rue 
Jules  Ferry,  he  encouraged  himself  to  cultivate  a 
primitive  attitude  of  mind,  and  to  make  the  best  of 
such  happiness  as  might  come  along.  The  hopeful 
vision  of  the  four  rapturous  nights  still  to  pass 
in  her  dear  presence  softened  the  pressure  of  fore- 
boding evil  which  weighed  upon  his  spirits. 

He  looked  for  her  through  the  window.  No, 
not  this  time!  He  went  into  the  passage  and 
pushed  the  door  open.  Their  room  was  empty. 
He  went  on  into  the  other  one;  still  no  one — to 
his  surprise. 

"Madame  Mafranc!"  he  called. 

There  was  no  answer.  The  idea  came  to  him 
that  perhaps  Andree  was  hiding,  for  mischief. 
Only  last  week  she  had  played  the  roguish  trick 
on  him.  Weary  and  troubled  as  he  was,  he  made 
no  attempt  to  conceal  himself.  Conscientiously 
he  looked  behind  the  bed  and  the  curtains.  Stealth- 


The  Flight  of  Andree          219 

ily  he  went  and  half  opened  the  cellar  door,  and 
cried,  "Cuckoo!" 

But  there  was  no  Andree  lurking  in  that  dark 
recess.  Wandering  through  the  silent  house,  he 
met  only  the  little  deaf  mute  who,  with  her  little 
hand  in  her  mouth,  watched  him  with  her  big 
dreamy  eyes. 

Enough  of  trifling.  He  stopped  in  the  middle 
of  the  room  and  cried:  "Come,  dear!  I've  done 
enough  walking !  That's  sufficient ! ' ' 

He  waited  a  few  seconds,  then  sat  down  and 
took  a  newspaper.  Hardly  had  he  cast  his  eyes 
over  it  when  he  thought  he  heard  a  scratching 
sound.  Ah,  the  big  cupboard — he  had  not 
looked  there!  It  was  a  good  place.  Evidently 
she  was  there.  What  a  dear  baby  to  amuse  her- 
self like  that ! 

He  got  up,  crossed  the  room  on  tiptoe,  and 
opened  the  cupboard  quickly.  His  first  astonish- 
ment was  that  no  one  was  there;  and  the  second 
stabbing  surprise,  that  it  was  empty — empty!  How 
distinctly  he  remembered  what  it  had  looked  like 
that  very  morning,  with  Andree's  cloak  and  her 
three  light  blouses  hanging  above  her  leather 
handbag. 

He  reached  the  wardrobe.  That  also  was  al- 
most entirely  emptied !  There  were  only  his  own 
linen  and  his  soldier's  traps,  which  filled  the  top 
shelf.  An  atrocious  pang  shot  through  his  heart. 

The  landlady  was  coming  in.  He  went  into 
the  yard :  ' '  Madame  Maf ranc ! ' ' 


220  A  Life  at  Stake 

She  clasped  her  hands:  "Ah,  what  a  business 
this  is,  M'sieur  Darboise!" 

"What  business?     Where  is  Madame?" 

"She  told  me  to  tell  you,  like  that,  that  she 
was  going  away 

"Going  away?" 

He  looked  at  her  steadily;  then  fearing  both  to 
understand  and  to  be  understood,  he  went  whis- 
tling back  to  his  room.  His  ears  were  buzzing 
and  his  legs  trembling.  Dully  he  wondered :  ' '  Has 
it  come,  has  it  come — the  disaster  of  my  life?" 
He  was  afraid  to  look  in  the  face  the  spectre  that 
rose  before  him — the  dreadful  uncertainty  already 
certain. 

He  called  Madame  Mafranc  back:  "You  don't 
know  if — if,  by  chance,  Madame  had  received 
a  telegram?" 

"That  I  couldn't  say,  m'sieur." 

"Well  then —  "  he  feigned  impatience  to  conceal 
his  anguish:  "What  time  did  she  go?  Come  now, 
what's  happened  ? ' ' 

He  had  to  tear  the  words  out  of  her. 

"It  was — perhaps  two  o'clock,  about — yes — 
my  man  had  just  gone  back — when  Madame  asked 
for  me,  and  she'd  packed  up,  and  was  just  putting 
her  hat  on.  I  asked  her:  'Has  something  turned 
up,  madame?'  And  she  replied:  'I  must  go,' 
like  that ;  and  then  she  said :  '  If  by  chance  those 
ladies  call  again  who  came  the  other  day,  you  will 
tell  them  that — I've  gone  to  Malo.'" 

Jean  pretended  to  be  satisfied  with  the  queer 


The  Flight  of  Andree          221 

narrative.  But  that  call  on  the  d'Estignards — a 
clue !  He  put  his  cap  on  again  and  went  out. 

Disburdened  of  his  fatigue,  he  ran  and  jumped 
on  to  a  running  tram  at  the  corner  of  the 
street. 

The  d'Estignards  were  at  dinner  when  he  went 
into  the  room  without  waiting  to  be  announced. 
Sylvaine,  stricken  with  fear  at  the  sight  of  the 
consternation  in  his  face,  stood  up:  "Another 
telegram  ?  The  little  one  ? ' ' 

Jean  stood  transfixed  with  surprise  for  a  few 
seconds;  then,  regaining  control,  he  lied.  Andree 
had  only  left  word  that  she  was  catching  a  train. 

Madame  d'Estignard  affirmed:  "Through  get- 
ting a  telegram?" 

"Yes — the  little  one — in  danger!"  he  said. 

"We  advised  her  rather  to  wait  till  tomorrow. 
She  would  have  caught  a  better  train,  one  that 
would  have  landed  her  in  Paris  almost  as  quickly. 
But  she  wouldn't  listen  to  us." 

Monsieur  d'Estignard  nodded  his  head:  "As 
soon  as  she  asked  me ' ' 

"For  the  permit — did  you ?" 

"Yes,  I  had  the  luck  to  get  it,  after  steering 
her  all  over  the  town,  and  then  I  took  her  to  the 
station  just  now." 

Sylvaine  had  already  beckoned  for  a  place  to  be 
prepared  for  Jean,  but  he  escaped,  rather  nerv- 
ously, objecting  that  he  had  no  right  to  come  and 
was  risking  punishment.  And  if  he  had  known 
that  he  would  find  out  so  little 


222  A  Life  at  Stake 

"What  did  you  think,  then,  that  we  should  tell 
you?"  the  young  girl  asked  ingenuously. 

He  blushed.  The  strangeness  of  his  overtures 
appeared  to  him.  More  briefly  than  was  proper 
he  sputtered  some  excuses,  shook  their  hands,  and 
took  his  leave. 

He  returned  on  foot,  and  all  the  way  along  the 
road  chaotic  reflections  rolled  through  his  mind. 
In  spite  of  appearances,  he  was  haunted  by  a 
suspicion.  That  tale  of  a  telegram — suppose  it 
was  not  a  tale,  after  all?  The  postman  might 
have  brought  it  without  the  landlady's  seeing  it — 
a  telegram  from  Madame  Sartiagues — a  relapse, 
indeed' — and  even  serious !  Strongly  Jean  wished, 
even  while  reproaching  himself  for  the  ferocious 
desire,  that  it  might  be  that — rather — rather  than 
the  other  thing,  good  God ! 

He  went  in,  and  immediately  Madame  Mafranc 
appeared  to  ask  him  if,  for  his  dinner, 

' ' No  thanks ;  I  don't  want  dinner — not  hungry ! " 

He  began  savagely  to  prowl  about  the  two 
rooms.  What  should  he  do  ?  Sometimes  he  stopped 
and  put  his  hands  to  his  head.  What?  What? 
He  would  have  sworn  that  Germaine — that  the 
Trousseliers  were  somehow  mixed  up  in  it,  and  he 
was  on  the  point  of  going  to  see  them.  But  there 
were  not  sufficient  data,  all  the  same.  He  recalled 
the  landlady  and  asked  her  point-blank  if  she  had 
not  seen — one  of  the  two  women  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

When  he  found  her  uneasy  and  hesitating,  he 


The  Flight  of  Andree          223 

assumed  the  r61e  of  examining  magistrate.  Little 
by  little,  still  in  faltering  fragments  and  with 
nerve-racking  repetitions,  she  corrected  her  story. 
Madame  had  first  gone  out  after  lunch,  as  though 
she  were  going  into  the  country  to  read,  but  she 
had  come  back  in  two  minutes,  trembling  all 
over.  She  said  she  had  met — who,  then  ? — the  old 
Trousselier  woman,  with  Mademoiselle  Vanden- 
bucke;  and  they  were  whispering  in  such  a  way 
as  she  went  by,  and  had  stared  at  her  so,  that  she 
couldn't  stand  it,  and  went  up  to  them  to  see  what 
they  wanted. 

"They  got  blabbing  to  her,  it  seems — they're 
foul-mouthed,  those  women!  A  real  row!  It's 
over  that  that  Madame  came  back  and  shut  her- 
self up." 

"At  that  moment,  had  she  decided  yet  to  go 
away?" 

"Oh,  certainly  not!    That  was  a  little  later." 

"When  was  it?" 

"I  was  just  hanging  my  washing  up  in  the  yard 
when  I  heard  some  one  moving  in  the  passage.  I 
went  to  see — Mademoiselle  Vandenbucke !  '  What 
do  you  want?'  She  went  and  pushed  a  piece  of 
paper,  as  one  might  say,  under  Madame's  door, 
and  then  made  herself  scarce  without  giving  me 
any  answer." 

"And  then?" 

"It  was  twenty  minutes  afterwards  that  I  saw 
Madame  again,  like  that,  with  her  hat  on." 

Having  dismissed  the  landlady,  Jean  still  tried 


224  A  Life  at  Stake 

to  delude  himself.  At  least  he  had  no  final  proof. 
That  "piece  of  paper" — no  doubt  it  was  some 
letter  in  which  the  vixens  must  have  scribbled 
their  accusation.  And  the  style  it  would  be  in! 
Could  Andree  be  satisfied  with  that? 

Night  was  falling.  Darbojse  closed  his  shutters 
and  lit  his  lamp.  During  the  half -hour  that  fol- 
lowed, what  upset  him  still  more  was  to  hear,  be- 
hind the  partition  alongside,  the  observations  of 
Mafranc,  who  had  come  in  drunk,  and  whom  his 
wife  had  made  the  mistake  of  telling  at  once  about 
their  beautiful  lodger's  leaving.  The  drunkard 
was  surprised  at  first,  then  angry:  "Without 
saying  good-bye  to  us,  then !  Does  she  take  us 
for  dogs?" 

He  sent  for  some  wine,  and  becoming  rapidly 
heated,  he  threatened  to  go  and  tell  Monsieur 
Darboise  some  truths  about  himself;  so  that  his 
wife,  going  round  by  the  passage,  came  to  warn 
Jean:  "He's  beastly  drunk  again!  M'sieur  had 
better  perhaps  bolt  his  door." 

Jean  took  her  advice.  Thus  confined,  a  fearful 
lucidity  returned  to  him.  It  was  impossible  that 
the  fugitive  had  not  left  a  word  in  writing.  Lamp 
in  hand,  he  began  to  search  through  the  two  rooms. 
On  the  mantelpiece  or  toilet-stand  ?  No.  One  by 
one  he  moved  the  papers  that  littered  the  table. 
Had  she  refused  him  even  a  few  lines  of  explana- 
tion? 

Nothing,  nothing.  And  then,  as  he  went  near 
the  bed  again,  at  the  end  of  theorising,  something 


The  Flight  of  Andree          225 

caught  his  eye — some  whitish  fragments  which 
hardly  showed  against  the  white  pillow.  Some  of 
these  he  seized  eagerly  and  placed  them  on  the 
table  under  the  circle  of  the  lampshade — and 
instantly,  he  could  doubt  no  longer. 

There,  torn  to  pieces  in  a  paroxysm  of  rage,  was 
the  sheet  on  which,  a  month  before,  he  had  drawn 
the  portrait  of  Germaine — and  added  his  dedica- 
tion! Remembering  his  own  unwillingness  to 
sign  it,  and  her  insistence,  a  violent  feeling  of  spite 
sprang  up  in  him  against  his  former  mistress.  He 
did  not  go  so  far  as  to  think  that  she  had  herself 
given  up  that  portrait.  But  he  could  so  easily 
link  again  the  chain  of  events:  the  old  lady, 
aware  of  the  intrigue  and  waiting  for  the  proof 
she  wanted,  ready  to  steal  it  perhaps,  and  one  fine 
day  putting  her  hand  right  on  it;  and  the  other 
woman,  the  horrible  Vandenbucke,  admitted  to 
the  secret ;  and  the  mean  revenge  prepared. 

So  it  was  all  up !  Andree  had  fled  and  was  lost, 
perhaps,  for  ever!  In  terror  Jean  thought  of  her 
quick,  decisive  temper — on  that  point  alone  was 
she  inexorable.  A  creature  of  impulses,  and  he 
adored  her  for  it.  How  many  times  had  she 
warned  him — "Darling,  if  you  were  not  true  to 
me,  you  would  never  see  me  again  in  your  life." 

And  that  menace  had  come  to  pass!  Would 
she  go  further?  He  remembered  how  quickly 
her  expression  became  tragic  when  she  touched 
on  that  subject.  She  would  speak  openly  of 
killing  herself,  and  him,  and  her  rival.  Even  the 

15 


226  A  Life  at  Stake 

most  sensible  and  tolerant  of  women,  when  one 
makes  an  attempt  upon  her  end  in  life — !  And 
then  he  saw  her  again,  clasping  him  in  half -hysteric 
fervour,  and  giving  him  to  understand  that  he 
was  that  glorious  lover's  chief  reason  for  existing. 
What  resolve  did  that  desperate  flight  in  the 
evening  conceal? 

If  the  discovery  had  been  made  in  the  early 
days  of  their  marriage,  ah,  certainly,  he  would 
have  had  to  fear  the  irreparable  act,  that  they 
would  be  bringing  her  back  to  him  any  minute, 
crushed  under  the  wheels  of  some  train.  Today, 
the  circumstances  were  different.  He  glowed  with 
the  warmth  of  certainty  that  she  still  breathed. 
And  for  Andree,  in  spite  of  all,  he  was  no  longer 
the  only  one.  There  was  their  little  child  at 
Sceaux !  The  ingenious  pretence  under  which  she 
had  concealed  her  reason  for  going  betrayed  the 
firm  foundation  which  still  held  her  fast  to  the 
world. 

She  was  living,  and  would  live,  for  the  chubby 
little  thing  whom  love  had  created  in  her.  And 
Jean,  who  had  not  yet  felt  the  sacred  thrill  towards 
the  wailing  being  that  only  made  a  future  appeal 
to  him,  Jean  whose  paternal  instinct  arose  in  him, 
for  the  first  time  perhaps,  hailed  with  ardent  af- 
fection the  cradled  child  down  yonder,  the  child 
whose  feeble  life  riveted  the  immortal  links  between 
its  sundered  parents. 


CHAPTER  V 

A   PERIOD  OF  WAITING 

So  Darboise  mastered  himself  and  refused  to 
despair.  He  would  summon  his  strength  to  write 
to  Andree  at  once. 

At  first  he  had  to  hunt  for  words.  He  had  no 
desire  to  affect  the  astonishment  of  the  man  who 
cannot  understand  why, — that  was  a  part  un- 
worthy of  him.  Deny  everything?  An  obvious 
lie,  which  would  not  save  him.  Confess  every- 
thing? Why  should  they  both  die  of  shame,  he 
and  she  alike?  So  he  embarked  only  on  in- 
definite references.  He  appeared  to  admit  his 
errors;  and  belaboured  himself  with  mea  ctdpa; 
and  he  did  not  shut  out  the  alleviating  supposition 
of  a — a  flirtation  which  was  devoid  of  significance. 
That  dedication  was  only  a  bit  of  cheeky  sentiment. 
(Ah,  if  there  had  been  nothing  more !) 

Suddenly  he  tired  of  that  style.  His  pen  began 
to  fly.  Ceasing  to  excuse  and  defend  himself,  he 
felt  naturally  and  sensibly  that  the  eternal  way  to 
disarm  one  who  loves  you  is  to  excite  pity  for 
your  state. 

He  pictured  the  gulf  of  despondency  towards 
227 


228  A  Life  at  Stake 

which  he  had  secretly  tended  for  several  weeks. 
Andree  alone  had  held  him  back  from  the  brink. 
And  now  today,  in  what  a  still  more  hideous 
abyss  he  was  on  the  point  of  sinking !  Would  she 
not  have  pity  on  him,  blessed  pity!  He  grew 
excited,  and  the  letter  became  a  long  cry  of  sor- 
row and  pain.  Arrangement  disappeared  from  it. 
Recent  happenings  he  blended  with  the  flow  of  his 
sincere  emotion.  What  rose  to  the  surface  and 
established  itself  as  the  subject  of  these  boiling 
pages,  was  the  assertion  of  his  love,  for  which  he 
devised  new  words  and  symbols.  He  revived 
again  those  hours  of  intimacy  in  which  they  had 
so  lately  renewed  their  strength.  Had  they  not 
then  enjoyed  all  there  was  in  life — the  only  real 
happiness  ?  Appealing  boldly  to  her  body  and  her 
soul,  he  preached  the  duty  of  pleasure- — it  would 
be  a  crime  to  refuse  him!  He  went  on  to  warn 
Andree  against  her  inflexible  nature.  If  she  was 
infallible,  let  her  make  allowances  for  human 
weakness !  One  should  not  break  with  everything, 
nor  with  anything,  for  the  sake  of  an  error  that 
had  no  morrow ! 

In  another  chapter  he  contrived  to  talk  to  her 
about  their  little  one.  He  used  simple  and  caress- 
ing terms  that  he  imagined  would  set  her  sobbing. 
With  affecting  seriousness  he  spoke  of  their  duty 
towards  the  little  innocent.  Further  on — for  all 
sorts  of  arguments  seemed  good  to  him — he  even 
dared  to  allude  to  the  resolve  he  should  make  in 
case  of  a  rupture  between  them.  (In  those  words 


A  Period  of  Waiting  229 

he  was  less  sincere,  for  as  he  thought  that  the 
sweetness  of  so  much  love  must  surely  revive 
again,  life  appeared  once  more  to  be  worth  living.) 
He  gave  up  the  idea  of  perusing  again  all  the 
litany  that  had  gushed  from  his  imperilled  soul.  As 
dawn  came,  and  he  enclosed  the  sheets  with  weary 
eyes,  he  imagined  that  he  had  mitigated  his  mis- 
take, had  averted  the  punishment  that  threatened. 

A  period  of  waiting  began.  Wednesday  and 
Thursday  went  by.  With  such  delays  in  the  mail 
deliveries,  he  could  not  expect  an  answer  in  less 
than  four  days. 

Darboise  had  held  out  hopes  to  himself,  it  is 
true,  that  she  would  have  written  to  him  herself 
when  she  reached  Paris.  At  the  two  daily  deliv- 
eries he  plagued  the  big  baggage-master,  who  re- 
fused him  with  a  laugh:  "Nothing!  Keep  your 
hair  on!" 

After  the  second  evening  he  had  a  sudden  anxiety . 
His  letter  was  addressed  to  Sceaux  and  possibly 
Andr6e  and  the  child  had  returned  to  the  Rue  de 
Vaugirard,  and  that  a  careless  postman  had  done 
the  rest.  Jean  decided  to  send  a  wire,  announcing 
the  letter  sent,  but  it  annoyed  him  that  the  tele- 
gram would  have  to  be  handed  in  by  the  Mafrancs. 

The  man  had  received  extra  pay  and  was  not 
sober  all  the  week-end.  The  woman,  abashed 
and  unnerved,  whom  her  husband  cursed  for  hours 
together,  evinced  foolish  solicitude  for  her  lodger 
by  asking  him  every  hour  for  news  of  his  "lady." 
She  took  the  telegram  away  to  be  endorsed  by  the 


230  A  Life  at  Stake 

chief  of  police,1  with  some  wagging  of  her  head 
for  which  Darboise  could  have  struck  her. 

Employed  all  day  at  the  Textile,  he  appreciated, 
no  doubt  for  the  first  time,  the  blessing  of  that 
physical  weariness  which  diverts  the  mind  from 
its  worries.  Without  affectation  he  broke  with 
the  Go-easy  Brigade,  nor  was  his  departure  re- 
garded complacently  by  the  rest  of  the  band. 

"He's  deserting  us,"  cried  Liebal;  "he'll  not 
get  off  that  way!" 

It  was  known  all  through  the  Textile  that  he 
had  got  into  another  scrape  with  Dubus,  at  the 
"fodder  fatigue";  that  was  the  reason,  no  doubt, 
why  he  was  clearing  out.  So  he  got  rather  a  cool 
welcome  from  the  corporals: 

"I  warn  you,"  Valentin  said  to  him,  "as  soon 
as  you  start  shirking,  I  shall  report  you." 

They  misread  his  motives.  A  paltry  reason  for 
anxiety,  that  report,  compared  with  his  others! 

He  spent  himself  recklessly  during  those  days, 
and  sought  fatigue.  He  exceeded  his  strength,  he 
had  no  appetite,  his  back  seemed  broken,  his  face 
was  drawn.  He  was  kept  going  by  a  confused 
ambition  to  fall  ill — so  ill  that  it  would  touch  her 
heart. 

And  then  on  the  third  evening — it  was  raining, — 
when  he  regained  his  empty  room,  lo,  he  felt  a 
still  graver  anxiety!  Had  the  ordeal  lasted  a 
century?  The  vanity  of  all  he  had  written  to 
her — and  he  had  known  it!  The  one  thing 

1  Apparently  a  war-time  precaution. — TR. 


A  Period  of  Waiting  231 

necessary  was  to  see  Andree  again,  to  bring  her 
again  within  the  magnetism  of  his  gaze  and  his 
petition.  But  where  and  how?  There  were  four 
weeks  yet  to  his  regular  leave.  Should  he  go  and 
find  the  lieutenant,  and  get  the  leave  advanced 
on  some  pretence?  No — in  view  of  those  reports! 
Yet  Jean  knew  that  if  one  could  show  a  telegram 
announcing  some  serious  domestic  event,  "four 
days"  were  usually  obtained  without  too  much 
difficulty. 

Whom  could  he  get  to  send  him  a  kindly  wire? 
In  Paris,  his  comrades  were  becoming  scarce. 
Darboise  thought  of  Pravel,  an  obliging  chap, 
exempted,  and  now  a  writer  at  the  Ministry  of  the 
Interior.  In  a  letter-card  he  besought  Pravel  to 
send  him  with  all  speed  a  telegram  requiring  his 
urgent  presence. 

Darboise  had  not  seen  Germaine  again.  Now 
that  their  carnal  union  was  broken,  the  thought 
alone  of  the  imprudence  she  had  been  guilty  of — 
the  woman  one  loves,  one  pardons! — had  decided 
him  to  have  done  with  her.  It  mattered  nothing 
what  she  might  suffer — the  egotism  of  passion! 

On  Friday  evening  as  he  was  getting  ready  to 
go  to  bed  about  nine  o'clock,  he  heard  a  timid 
knocking  on  his  shutter,  and  anxiety  gripped  him. 
If  it  was  Germaine!  He  decided  not  to  move,  but 
stayed  in  his  arm-chair,  with  sweat  on  his  brow. 

More  knocking;  then  someone  tried  the  outside 
door.  It  was  bolted,  and  the  visitor  returned  to 
the  shutter. 


232  A  Life  at  Stake 

Jean  had  resolved  in  no  way  to  betray  his 
presence,  hoping  they  would  be  quickly  dis- 
couraged. But  perhaps  they  had  been  on  the 
watch  for  him,  and  made  sure  that  he  was  there. 
It  went  on;  every  three  seconds  the  same  timid 
tap  was  repeated — exasperating  at  length,  intoler- 
able at  last. 

After  five  minutes,  perhaps,  he  got  up  quickly, 
went  to  the  window,  opened  it,  and  lifted  the 
shutter-hasp. 

It  was  indeed  Germaine,  that  outline  smothered 
in  a  dark  shawl.  The  big  black-ringed  eyes  that 
spoke  of  deep  distress  but  slightly  affected  him. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  said  sharply. 

"I  want — I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"There's  no  need!" 

"I  know — I've  found  out,  today — it  was  the 
old  woman — she's  sto — stolen  my ' 

Poor  Germaine  was  stammering.  Really,  she 
must  have  erred  in  stupid  negligence,  but  he  only 
felt  his  resentment  flare  up  again.  With  a  brutal- 
ity which  surprised  himself,  he  cried:  "It's  your 
fault — all  that  has  happened — everything !  I  hate 
you !  Get  out  of  here ! ' ' 

"Jean!    Jean!" 

He  tried  to  close  the  shutter  again,  but  she 
seized  it. 

"Jean! — I  beg  your  pardon — listen,  let  me 
come  in ' 

He  knew  what  she  would  do; — throw  herself 
upon  him,  disarm  him,  take  him  captive  again, 


A  Period  of  Waiting  233 

perhaps.  The  duplicity  of  women!  His  blood 
boiled.  Feverishly  he  pulled  the  shutter  inwards 
— "Ah!"  she  groaned. 

Her  fingers  were  caught  between  the  wood  and 
the  stone  edge.  With  his  own,  his  masculine, 
rage-contracted  hands,  he  detached,  one  by  one, 
each  of  those  miserable  fingers.  The  hand  dis- 
appeared in  the  dark.  Then  he  pulled  the  shutter 
violently  in,  and  fastened  it. 

And  at  that  moment  the  generosity  which  was 
the  foundation  of  his  nature  emerged  from  under 
the  flood  of  anger,  as  a  rock  arises  from  the  sweep- 
ing tide-race.  "What  a  brute  I've  been!"  In  a 
flash,  the  position  appeared  to  him  in  another 
light.  Piteous  Germaine!  How  light  her  faults 
were  by  the  side  of  his  own!  Hastily,  with  a 
pang  of  fraternal  compassion,  he  went  into  the 
corridor  and  then  into  the  street. 

The  pavement  was  deserted.  He  was  stupefied. 
She  must  have  fled  madly,  by  a  cross-street.  He 
walked  a  little  farther  and  drank  in  the  night  air. 
He  looked  up  at  the  stars  that  the  poets  have 
sung — and  from  the  confusion  of  his  soul  a  cry  of 
anguish  escaped:  "My  God,  if  there  is  a  God, 
why  does  so  much  evil  fall  on  us  ? " 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   PACKET  FROM   PARIS 

THE  next  was  a  day  of  "rest,"  but  of  rest  cut 
short;  for  that  very  evening  at  six  o'clock,  the 
night  shift  was  beginning. 

When  he  woke  up,  Darboise  thought  he  had  a 
chance  to  escape  it.  By  that  time  Pravel  would 
have  received  his  letter,  and  the  day  would  not 
go  by  without  a  telegram  of  liberation.  Provided 
he  had  obtained  his  leave,  he  would  be  able  to 
catch  the  10.27  train. 

Mother  Mafranc  had  just  finished  swilling  the 
passage  and  had  gone  into  the  street  to  scrub  in 
the  front  of  the  gate,  when  the  sound  of  an  alter- 
cation reached  Jean,  and  a  chill  ran  through  him 
as  he  thought  he  recognised  a  voice : 

"We'll  see  whether  he  cares  or  not,"  it  cried, 
"if  I  make  a  complaint!" 

Mother  Trousselier!  What  was  to  be  done? 
He  must  go  out,  and  the  landlady  made  way  for 
him  to  show  himself. 

He  hoped  to  silence  her  by  the  sternness  of  his 
glance,  but  the  old  woman,  with  arms  akimbo, 
took  a  step  towards  him : 

234 


A  Packet  from  Paris          235 

"Leading  the  mother  of  a  family  astray!  It's 
disgraceful,  I  say!"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  to 
rouse  the  neighbourhood;  "and  my  son  in  the 
trenches!" 

Women  appeared,  attracted  by  the  noise. 

"She's  just  tried  to  suffocate  herself,"  yelped 
the  shrew ; ' '  yes,  and  her  babies.  If  I  hadn't  smelt 
the  gas " 

She  raised  her  fist  towards  Darboise:  "All  on 
account  of  that  mucky -face  there!" 

As  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  made  as  if  he 
would  go  in,  she  shouted  louder  still:  "If  the 
police  do  their  duty- !" 

He  went  in,  trying  to  make  his  retreat  look  as 
little  as  possible  like  flight.  Germaine's  frightful 
attempt!  It  was  the  natural  sequel,  alas,  to  his 
savagery  of  the  night  before.  At  least  it  had  not 
succeeded.  But- — his  thoughts  and  his  conscience 
turned  like  a  trapped  beast — it  was  possible  that 
this  new  scandal  might  be  fatally  spread  abroad ! 
A  complaint  to  the  Detachment — and  if  the 
telegram  did  not  come  within  an  hour — !  For, 
once  in  prison,  it  was  all  up  with  his  hopes ! 

Outside,  the  enraged  harangue  of  the  old  woman 
continued.  The  gossips  of  the  street  were  round 
her  and  the  murmur  of  a  crowd  could  be  heard. 
They  were  hostile  to  the  stranger,  on  the  whole. 
Yet  Jean,  who  was  watching  the  pantomime  behind 
the  curtain,  thought  he  detected  another  current 
of  feeling.  The  girls  and  young  women  seemed  to 
be  captivated  by  an  occurrence  in  which  death  had 


236  A  Life  at  Stake 

very  nearly  been  mingled  with  love.  They,  who 
knew  Darboise  and  whose  looks  were  fixed  on  his 
windows,  were  disposed  to  be  indulgent  towards 
such  a  nice-looking  fellow.  He  made  out  several 
remarks : 

' ' I  say,  he  didn't  take  her  by  force ! ' ' 

And  the  voice  of  the  butcher's  wife  also  arose: 
"What  a  tale — that  he  was  going  with  her !  Why, 
he  had  his  wife  with  him!" 

"And  she's  not  the  only  one!"  retorted  another. 
In  the  laughter  that  followed  he  detected  bantering 
complicity ! 

Mother  Trousselier  was  losing  ground,  and  her 
last  shot  was  fatal  to  her:  "The  sod!"  she 
screamed;  "why  I  might  have  been  suffocated 
with  them!" 

Wild  laughter  sounded.  The  shrew  cursed  her 
audience,  and  low  jests  showered  on  her.  "Old 
lunatic!"  they  called  her.  Snarling  she  turned 
on  her  heels:  "Let  him  hide  himself — I'll  play 
hell  with  him,  with  a  vengeance ! ' ' 

Darboise  remained  in  a  state  of  nervous  be- 
wilderment. As  he  was  getting  ready  to  go  to 
quarters  for  breakfast,  Cazenave  jumped  from 
his  bicycle  at  the  gate:  "A  telegram  for  you,  old 
chap!" 

Pretending  surprise,  Jean  opened  the  envelope: 
"Anything  new  yonder?"  he  asked,  fearing  that 
the  Trousselier  scene  might  already  have  had 
consequences. 

"Nothing  whatever." 


A  Packet  from  Paris          237 

He  glanced  at  the  writing.  "Bad  news?" 
Cazenave  asked. 

' '  No,  no. ' '  He  read  it  again  to  himself :  ' '  Too 
risky  in  my  position  letter  follows  sorry  compli- 
ments— Pravel. ' ' 

Jean  gave  a  short  laugh:  "Another  of  them!" 
Then,  as  Cazenave  was  looking  at  him:  "No 
great  importance !  But — laughable ! ' ' 

The  other  got  on  his  bicycle  again,  and  Jean 
went  out  behind  him.  He  was  possessed  by  an 
immense  ironical  contempt  for  others  and  for 
himself.  Was  he  not  incorrigible,  to  be  still  con- 
triving? How  French  it  was,  that  fear  of  being 
held  accountable!  That  egotistical  selfishness, 
how  human  it  was ! 

At  quarters,  another  shock.  For  that  morning 
of  rest,  Fauvel  had  thought  fit  to  order  a  rifle 
inspection.  Darboise's  rifle  was  found  pitted 
with  rust,  and  the  lieutenant  required  that  the 
weapon  should  be  shown  to  him  again  at  two 
o'clock. 

It  was  as  good  as  anything  else!  As  soon  as 
lunch  was  over,  Darboise  bent  over  the  ungrateful 
task,  taking  to  pieces,  cleaning,  and  oiling.  Yet 
he  hardly  satisfied  Fauvel,  who  quite  failed  to 
unbend  when  he  "passed"  his  second  inspection. 
In  the  blankness  of  his  brain,  Jean  clung  to  one 
hope;  if  Andree  had  answered  him  her  letter  would 
arrive  that  evening ! 

The  anxiety  of  the  Trousselier  incident  was 
coursing  through  his  mind.  He  expected  every 


238  A  Life  at  Stake 

minute  to  be  ordered  to  the  Bureau.  When  about 
half-past  three,  he  saw  a  gendarme  crossing  the 
threshold  of  the  school,  he  felt  that — But  it  was 
not  so ;  the  man  came  out  again,  his  errand  having 
concerned  only  some  changed  addresses. 

Sergeant  Gandolphe  was  going  through  the 
mess-rooms.  He  had  been  marked  to  take  charge 
of  the  fatigue  in  the  night  turn.  He  was  examin- 
ing his  list  again  and  again,  uneasy  about  the 
unfit  cases  and  the  "unavailables,"  and  anxious 
to  have  his  hundred  and  ten  men  ready,  not  one 
more  or  less,  to  present  to  Adjutant  Morinet  at 
six  o'clock. 

Looking  at  Jean,  he  said:  "Hey,  Darboise, 
you've  got  a  funny  look. ' ' 

"I'm  going  on  all  right,  don't  worry." 

"I  require  you,"  said  the  sergeant,  "to  carry  a 
waistcoat  or  some  warm  undergarment  in  your 
pouch.  One  feels  the  cold  at  three  in  the  morning. ' ' 

"I  know." 

Thuillier  and  Clement  came  up. 

"Yes,  he's  right  there!" 

Thuillier,  in  a  chaffing  tone,  added  some  words 
of  explanation :  ' '  Because — and  this  is  the  best  of 
it,  listen;  the  beauty  of  the  'bakery'  by  night — 
now  that  they  only  do  four  batches,  the  thickest 
of  the  job  finishes  about  half -past  two  in  the  morn- 
ing. You  can  call  it  finishing  if  you  like !  Do  you 
think  they  let  you  go?  Cachin,  the  mongrel, 
asked  for  it — and  he  got  it!  You  go  away  from 
the  ovens  all  in  a  sweat  and  you've  got  to  stay 


A  Packet  from  Paris          239 

there  till  six  o'clock.  You  go  to  sleep  in  the 
corners,  and  there  are  hellish  draughts.  Is  that 
fair  to  human  beings,  eh?  In  winter  it's  enough 
to  kill  you!" 


The  time  for  the  muster  was  approaching.  In 
his  miserable  overall,  his  bulging  pouch  on  his 
shoulder,  Jean  was  only  on  the  lookout  for  the 
coming  of  the  baggage-master.  When  big  Fen- 
ouillet  appeared:  "Anything  for  me,  sergeant?" 

"Yes,  and  you've  got  to  sign  for  it.  Go  up 
to  the  next  floor." 

Something  registered!  No  doubt  that  was  her 
precaution,  so  that  her  letter  would  not  go  astray ! 

But  in  the  little  office  up  there,  when  Hirschfeld 
handed  him  the  receipt  book,  what  uneasiness !  A 
packet — and  from  Paris!  He  left  the  room,  and 
Fenouillet  handed  him  a  tiny  box. 

Standing  aside  on  the  landing,  Darboise  gazed 
at  it.  He  knew  the  writing — it  was  his  mother- 
in-law's.  Strange!  Mistrust  gripped  his  heart  as 
he  tore  off  the  red  seal  and  the  string. 

The  box  was  stuffed  with  cotton-wool.  He  took 
one  layer  away,  and  another.  A  gold  ring  ap- 
peared. He  took  it  out  and  weighed  it  in  his  hand 
a  second,  refusing  to  understand.  He  turned  it 
over,  seeking  the  microscopic  lettering  traced  on 
its  inner  side.  He  read:  "Jean-Andree,  June 
23,1913-" 


240  A  Life  at  Stake 

It  was  the  covenant  he  had  handed  to  her  on 
the  sacred  day  of  their  wedding. 

Staggering  down  the  stair,  he  was  forced  to  lean 
on  the  rail.  He  jostled  the  "chief,"  and  did  not 
see  him. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AN   IMPOSSIBLE  TASK 

THIS  night  work,  which  returned  every  three 
months  for  four  weeks,  was  universally  detested. 
The  general  unwillingness  showed  itself  at  the  roll 
call,  which  was  particularly  toilsome;  for  along 
the  length  of  the  column,  on  the  platforms  of  the 
Port,  the  gaps  were  repeated  at  every  step. 

Never  yet  had  Darboise  been  assigned  to  the 
"bakery"  properly  so  called,  being  entirely  igno- 
rant of  the  job. 

The  non-coms,  presented  themselves  and  each 
claimed  for  his  "tent"  his  number  of  men,  ten 
here,  twelve  or  fourteen  there.  Jean  found  him- 
self allotted  to  "tent"  No.  7,  situated  near  the 
middle  of  the  hangar. 

As  soon  as  he  got  there,  the  sergeant  pushed 
him  towards  a  big  man  whose  chest  was  bare  to 
the  waist —  ' '  See,  there's  your  drudge,  my  friend ! " 

The  other,  scowling  at  the  sight  of  Jean,  said : 

"Been  one  before,  eh?" 

"No." 

"You  look  like  it — another  specimen!"  said  the 
big  man,  as  he  turned  to  one  of  his  assistants, 
16  241 


242  A  Life  at  Stake 

a  swarthy  chap  in  overalls,  who  had  a  sneakish 
look  and  began  to  laugh:  "Damn  it!  They  do 
choose  'em  for  us,  the  blighters!" 

Darboise  made  as  if  he  was  going  to  put  his 
pouch  down  when  the  man  pushed  his  arm :  ' '  Get 
a  move  on,  by  God,  I  say!  You'll  make  us  late!" 

"What  is  there  to  do?" 

"There's  your  tool!" 

The  big  baker  handed  him  a  heavy  cleaver,  and 
Jean  looked  vaguely  at  its  jagged  edge. 

"What  are  you  waiting  for?" 

"Is  it  for  chopping  wood?" 

"Into  little  bits,  sonny!" 

"Where's  the  wood?" 

"Well,  talk  about  a  stick!"  the  big  oven-tender 
cried. 

Hatchet  in  hand,  Darboise  went  out,  and  be- 
thought himself  of  the  mad  rush  of  his  companions 
towards  the  southern  exit  of  the  Textile.  Hasten- 
ing his  steps,  but  without  running ,  he  arrived  a  good 
last  in  the  locality  of  the  wood  fatigue,  and  there 
he  regretted  his  tardiness.  For  in  the  heaps  to 
which  a  sentry  was  rudely  directing  everybody, 
the  wily  ones  had  already  laid  violent  hands  on  the 
light  and  small  wood.  Only  lusty  logs  were  left, 
thankless  stuff  to  cut. 

"  You're  all  right,  old  chap!"  Thuillier  cried 
to  him  as  he  cheerfully  carried  his  load  away 
on  his  shoulder:  "You're  going  to  get  what 
for!" 

"How  do  they  make  out  that  with  a  tool  like 


An  Impossible  Task  243 

this — ?"  He  was  looking  at  the  weapon's  flat- 
tened and  mangled  edge. 

"Damn — that's  hard!"  was  the  other's  opinion, 
as  he  went  off  with  dragging  steps. 

Jean  tried  to  carry  two  logs  away  on  his  shoulder, 
but  they  slipped  off.  Unable  to  carry  them  as 
they  were,  he  began  trying  to  split  them  on  the 
spot.  But,  as  he  had  foreseen,  his  ailing  arm 
failed  him, — too  weak  to  hold  the  log  still.  The 
blunted  edge  of  the  hatchet,  too,  bit  badly,  and 
hammered  without  dividing  the  close-set  fibres 
of  beech.  Panting  and  exhausted  at  the  end  of  a 
few  minutes,  he  broke  off  and  said  aloud:  "I 
can't  doit,  that's  all!" 

He  sat  down  on  the  pile  of  wood.  And  suddenly 
losing  interest  in  these  slavish  demands,  it  pleased 
him  again  to  pick  up  the  thread  of  his  disconsolate 
meditation — "Andree,  Andree!"  He  lived  again 
through  the  oscillation  of  his  hopes  and  fears  of 
recent  days.  He  had  refused  to  believe  that  there 
could  be  a  definite  breaking  off.  But  that  return 
of  the  ring 

"I  say!  What  game  are  you  playing  with 
us?" 

A  shadow  arose — the  "  knead er,"  grumbling. 

"I  was  waiting  for  you,"  said  Jean  coolly,  "to 
tell  you  that — it's  impossible." 

"Impossible?     What's  impossible?" 

"To  do  that  job.     I'm  wounded." 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders:  "My  lad, 
we  know  all  about  that  sort  of  chatter '  If  they've 


244  A  Life  at  Stake 

sent  you  to  the  fatigue,  probably  it's  because  you 
haven't  been  declared  unfit." 

' '  Excuse  me.     If  I  liked ' ' 

"Don't  move  from  here.  I'm  off  to  tell  the 
corporal." 

The  man  disappeared.  Thuillier,  who  had  re- 
turned to  fetch  the  rest  of  his  load,  stopped  in 
front  of  Darboise  and  heard  the  story.  He  rubbed 
his  hands : 

"You  did  right.  They  mustn't  mess  us  about 
too  much,  these  swine  of  sentries — a  lot  of  chaps 
that  have  never  been  to  the  front!" 

"Do  you  think,"  said  Jean,  whose  blood  was 
boiling,  "they  haven't  been?" 

"Certain  sure!  What  a  scandal  it  is!  Strap- 
ping fellows  not  thirty  years  old,  mind,  and  armed 
service,  too!" 

Darboise  clenched  his  fists,  and  declared,  "I'll 
risk  it!" 

As  he  went  off,  Thuillier  said:  "Mind,  all  the 
same!  There  are  some  dirty  beasts  among  these 
corporals!" 

' ' '  Bakehouse  corporal '  ?     Is  that  a  non-com.  ? ' ' 

"That  depends.     Some  are  real  corporals." 

"I  didn't  see  any  stripe  on  mine." 

' '  You've  got  to  pick  and  choose.  Do  as  I  do.  I 
chop  one  half  of  their  wood.  Look,  you've  got 
the  two  assistant-bakers.  We're  there  to  give 
them  a  lift,  no  more  and  no  less " 

As  he  disappeared  Jean  saw  the  "bakehouse 
corporal"  and  the  kneader  appearing  round  the 


An  Impossible  Task  245 

corner  of  a  wood-pile.  The  big  oven-feeder  had 
put  on  a  little  jacket.  Very  red,  and  his  eyes 
bulging,  he  addressed  Darboise: 

' '  What's  the  matter  ?    You  refuse  to  work,  eh  ? " 

"I  don't  refuse.     I  say  that  I  can't." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  had  my  elbow  shot  through,  five 
months  ago,  at  Douaumont." 

"Take  care,  my  lad.  There  are  some  worse 
off  than  you  and  it  hasn't  stopped  them  from 
buckling  to!" 

Darboise  had  noticed  the  double  red  stripe  on  the 
man's  cap.  A  flash  of  prudence  passed  through 
him.  Kneeling,  he  took  the  heavy  cleaver  in  hand 
for  another  attempt,  ungraciously,  in  truth,  but 
the  log  would  not  be  cut,  and  his  crippled  arm 
was  an  obvious  acquittal. 

At  the  end  of  half  a  minute,  the  corporal  was 
satisfied.  "You  get  into  it,  too,  Marius!"  he 
said  to  his  companion. 

The  assistant  smothered  a  grimace.  Whistling 
he  went  off  to  find  a  hatchet  in  good  trim.  Return- 
ing, he  began  to  split  and  shape  with  surprising 
dexterity,  but  not  saying  a  word  to  Jean.  The 
latter  offered  to  help  him.  No,  the  other  snubbed 
him  tartly.  But  when  the  task  was  finished,  he 
said  spitefully:  "You'll  suffer  for  that,  and 
quickly!" 

The  sun  had  just  set.  Jean's  head  was  bent  as 
he  went  along,  heedless  of  the  first  twinkling  of 
stars  in  the  depth  of  the  sky.  The  wind  had  fallen, 


246  A  Life  at  Stake 

and  the  immense  harbour  and  its  resounding  quays 
had  become  silent.  The  rows  of  cranes  no  longer 
flourished  their  fantastic  antennae,  but  looked  in 
the  twilight  like  fabled  monsters  lying  in  wait  for 
their  prey.  All  the  western  sky  was  steeped  in  a 
rosy  glow,  and  against  it  the  lighthouse  stood  out 
in  sepulchral  white.  The  big  vessels  along  the 
quays  were  in  repose,  their  curved  flanks  sinking 
into  a  tide  of  lemon  yellow.  Opposite  the  battleship 
Freycinet  VIII.,  the  grey  hulks  of  destroyers  looked 
like  huge  turtles.  Though  vulgarised  during  the 
day  by  the  uproar  of  humanity,  the  peace  of  even- 
ing lent  to  the  spectacle  a  majestic  serenity  which 
Jean  could  not  help  enjoying,  even  under  the 
circumstances. 

At  that  hour,  all  of  life  there  was  seemed  to  have 
fled  into  the  Textile.  In  the  invading  darkness, 
the  entry  to  the  hangar  lost  something  of  its 
heavy  and  commonplace  design.  Inside,  the  few 
lamps  that  had  just  been  lit  at  the  Office  of  Staff 
only  revealed  vague  outlines,  and  could  not  drive 
away  the  shadow  which  gradually  swallowed  the 
gloomy  heaps  of  sacks,  submerged  the  summits 
of  the  iron  pillars,  and  enlarged  in  mysterious 
beauty  the  no  longer  connected  arches. 

Jean  had  to  make  two  trips.  The  first  time  he 
saw  through  the  opening  of  the  huge  central  way  a 
span  of  still  fiery  sky.  The  second,  there  was  only 
a  narrow  strip  of  color  in  a  wide  expanse  of  grey. 
The  artist  in  him  regretted  the  lost  splendour. 
But,  as  he  turned  the  other  way,  around  him  a 


An  Impossible  Task  247 

mighty  humming  was  growing  louder — the  roar 
of  the  fires  that  were  lighting,  and  under  the 
"tents"  he  could  hear  the  efforts  of  the  toilers. 
Great  beams  of  light  flashed  forth  at  intervals, 
half-veiled  by  columns  of  tawny  smoke.  For 
some  minutes  Jean  stood,  captivated  by  the 
panorama  of  the  energy  and  achievement  of 
today. 

Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  walked  on 
again.  It  was  only  the  crushing  of  human  beings 
that  was  being  accomplished  in  the  grand  pageant. 

"Look  out  there,  good  Lord!"  A  black  mass 
was  moving  on  to  him,  the  tail-end  of  a  backing 
train  whose  engine  was  whistling  hoarsely  yonder. 
Jean  had  jumped  aside.  With  a  retrospective 
shiver  he  realized  by  that  fact  that  he  had  no  wish 
to  die,  and  he  gave  thanks  to  the  fate  that  still 
preserved  in  him  a  desire  to  get  the  upper  hand 
again. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
IN  THE  "BAKERY" 

"WE'RE  damnably  behind  time!" 

"Whose  fault  is  it?"  said  Marius. 

"That  swine  there!"  declared  the  bakehouse 
corporal,  pointing  to  Jean. 

"All  the  same,  I  got  him  out  of  the  mess!"  the 
baker  went  on. 

' '  I  know.  Without  that,  we  should  never  have 
finished." 

Jean  had  to  go  through  his  apprenticeship 
under  the  guidance  of  the  second  assistant,  a  little 
surly  man,  who  was  either  wordless,  which  was 
most  often,  or  who  muttered  unintelligible  infor- 
mation between  his  teeth.  This  lowly  task  of  the 
"drudge"  was  made  up  of  a  thousand  well-timed 
movements  to  which  he  was  quite  unaccustomed 
and  for  which  he  had  no  compensating  enthusiasm. 

The  ninety-six  bread-tins  had  to  be  arranged  and 
stacked  in  the  order  required  by  the  oven-filler; 
then  they  must  be  befloured  inside  and  dragged 
to  the  kneading-trough.  The  bakers  were  in  a 
hurry  that  night — the  kneading  was  rather  super- 
ficial and  the  weighing  rather  hasty !  Briskly  the 

248 


In  the  "Bakery"  249 

tins  were  filled  with  lumps  of  dough  and  rounded 
with  a  few  perfunctory  thumb-dabs.  Carrying 
them  four  or  six  at  once  in  his  arms,  Darboise 
took  them  to  the  corporal,  who,  when  the  first 
were  put  down  on  the  edge  of  his  pit,  slanged  him, 
saying:  "What  do  you  want  to  be  so  long  for, 
bringing  them  back?" 

With  his  long-handled  shovel  the  "filler"  was 
busily  putting  the  tins  on  their  chosen  spots  in  the 
hot  oven;  dexterous  and  swift,  he  stormed  at  the 
"drudge's"  delays.  Then  it  was  Jean's  job  to 
carry  away  the  fire-shovel — devilish  heavy,  and 
spitting  fire.  He  wandered  about  some  minutes 
looking  for  the  cinder-pails.  Clement,  meeting 
him,  told  him  where  to  look.  Returning  he  was 
caught  up  again  for  not  having  brought  back  the 
' '  flag, ' '  as  they  called  it — a  wet  cloth  fastened  to  the 
end  of  a  long  handle.  Then  Marius  fell  foul  of 
him — why  didn't  he  go  and  fetch  the  trolley? 

Baking- time  brought  respite  to  the  fatigue-men. 
Darboise  saw  his  companions  at  the  other  ovens 
"knock  off."  Weary,  and  regarding  his  task  as 
finished  for  the  moment,  he  went  a  few  yards 
away  and  sat  on  one  of  the  shafts  of  the  trolley. 

Immediately  the  corporal  hailed  him:  "Hey, 
lad,  can't  stop  there!" 

"Do  you  want  me?" 

"Stay  here,  I  tell  you;  that's  enough." 

The  big  man  was  obviously  delighted  at  having 
humiliated  him.  A  laugh  split  his  heavy  snout. 
Chattering  with  Marius  he  resumed  his  work. 


250  A  Life  at  Stake 

Still  standing,  and  his  back  nigh  broken,  Jean 
was  forced  to  remain  close  by  them.  The  accent 
of  his  two  companions — of  a  meridian  which  was 
not  his — scorched  his  ears.  Bravely  he  tried  to 
detach  himself,  and  think.  He  tried  to  sum  up 
the  chances  of  happiness  that  he  still  retained, 
and  found  them,  alas,  very  small!  But  recalling 
certain  passages  in  his  long  letter  that  might  have 
melted  a  hyena's  heart,  he  pictured  Andree  seized 
with  sudden  remorse, — writing,  telegraphing' 

His  weariness  betrayed  itself.  Enviously  he 
looked  at  the  tall  bin  hard  by  which  would  serve 
him  at  least  to  lean  against.  Again  he  made  a 
movement  that  way.  But  the  others  were  watch- 
ing him.  The  corporal  looked  straight  at  him, 
and  then  turned  to  his  assistant,  and  the  two 
accomplices  tittered. 

Still  restraining  himself,  Darboise  decided  'to 
wait  till  Gandolphe  passed  and  ask  him  to  intervene 
with  the  sergeant  of  the  "tent."  He  might  at 
least  be  authorized  to  sit  down,  he  who  had  just 
been  ill,  and  as  long  as  they  had  nothing  for  him 
to  do! 

But  Gandolphe  did  not  appear  till  nearly  eleven 
o'clock.  He  was  accompanied  by  Lesdrat,  the 
"juice-man,"  who  carried  a  bucket  of  steaming 
liquid.  There  was  a  general  relaxing.  When 
the  drinking-cups  were  filled,  the  sergeant  dis- 
tributed slices  of  sausage.  Hunches  of  bread 
came  out  of  the  pouches,  and  the  ' '  snack ' '  lasted 
several  minutes,  the  only  real  respite  of  the  night. 


In  the  "Bakery"  251 

The  first  baking  was  finishing.  At  Oven  2,  to 
which  Jean  was  assigned,  they  were  late,  and  the 
dough,  insufficiently  kneaded,  required  longer 
baking.  Bah!  "Be  damned  to  it!"  said  the 
oven-feeder.  As  long  as  they  finished  at  the  same 
time  as  the  others,  or  even  a  bit  sooner ! 

"Oh,  I  say!"  laughed  Marius  at  the  look  of 
the  first  loaf,  withdrawn  as  a  sample — burnt  out- 
side, underdone  inside — "the  poilus  that  swallow 
that !" 

"Don't  worry,"  replied  the  big  man,  "they 
won't  come  back  to  bullyrag  you!" 

Provisions  for  the  front ! 

The  corporal  turned  to  Darboise:  "Bring  the 
trolley  up,  you !"  And  as  soon  as  Jean  had  carried 
the  order  out:  "Stick  there,  and  look  out.  We 
shall  throw  you  the  bullets,  and  you'll  put  them 
away  as  they  come." 

Without  further  explanation,  the  oven-feeder 
pulled  a  smoking  loaf  out  on  his  shovel,  and  it 
was  seized  by  his  helper. 

"Hep!"  The  latter,  with  a  sharp  movement, 
threw  it  at  the  "drudge." 

"Ah!"  It  burned  Jean's  hands,  fell,  and 
rolled  away. 

"Be  careful,  clumsy  devil !" 

"It's  hot,  I'd  have  you  know!" 

' '  How  do  we  manage  then  ? ' ' 

The  kneader  picked  up  the  loaf  and  put  it  in  the 
basket. 

"Hep!    Another — quick!"  cried  the  corporal. 


252  A  Life  at  Stake 

Darboise  caught  the  second  in  its  flight  and  just 
managed  to  throw  it  into  the  basket,  though  his 
arm  was  hindering  him.  But  he  could  not  suppress 
an  exclamation.  He  rubbed  his  hands  and  looked 
at  them.  On  the  right  hand,  a  big  blister  was 
rising;  and  to  add  to  it  all,  the  two  plotters  were 
writhing  with  laughter. 

"Whore-fingers!"  said  the  kneader,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

It  was  too  much,  and  Jean  said:  "That's 
enough  for  me." 

"Eh?" 

"I'm  chucking  it." 

"You'll  chuck  it  when  you're  told  to!"  said  the 
corporal ;  ' '  now  then,  quickly ! " 

Pale  with  anger,  Darboise  walked  away  a  few 
steps.  The  big  oven-tender  came  to  the  edge  of 
his  pit.  "There's  going  to  be  hell  to  pay!  He's 
giving  us  the  go-by  in  the  end,  that  chap ! " 

Pincivy,  one  of  the  squad,  was  passing  near  by, 
helping  another  to  push  a  laden  trolley.  Jean 
made  him  such  an  imperious  sign  that  he  stopped : 
"What's  up?" 

"It's  this  way — I  burn  myself  every  time  I 
touch  their  bullets,  and  I  can't  go  on 

Quietly  Pincivy  said:  "Ah,  they  didn't  tell 
you  then  ?  I'm  not  surprised.  Hogs ! ' ' 

"Tell  me  what?" 

"How  to  catch  them — underneath,  mind! 
Where  it  doesn't  get  as  hot!" 

The  two  pals  had  seen  that  Pincivy  was  explain- 


In  the  "Bakery"  253 

ing,  and  held  their  sides  in  merriment.  Jean's 
anger  increased. 

"Well  then,  they're  rotten  devils!"  he  cried, 
turning  towards  them. 

"Say  that  again!"  shouted  the  corporal,  whose 
puffy  face  was  contracting. 

"I  say  again,  it's  the  trick  of  cads  not  to  give 
me  the  tips — 


'You  hear  him,  eh?    You're  my  witness- 


"Go  for  him.  He  wants  his  nose  wiping," 
said  the  assistant. 

"It's  you  that  can  happen  to  any  minute!" 
retorted  Jean,  white  with  fury.  "There  are 
bullets  wasted  at  the  front  that'd  be  better  placed 
in  your  body!" 

He  had  made  a  step  towards  them,  and  Pincivy 
was  trying  to  hold  him  back.  With  an  agility 
that  no  one  would  have  believed  in  him,  the 
corporal  jumped  out  of  his  pit.  With  convulsive 
features,  the  fat  man  came  close  up  to  Jean : 

"To  hell  with  you,  my  lad,  and  to  hell  with  you, 
and  to  hell  with  you ;  and  for  what  you've  just  said. 
I'll  see  the  gaoler  gets  you ! " 

The  scene  began  to  create  a  disturbance  in  the 
' '  tent. ' '  From  adjoining  ovens,  several  inquisitive 
people  came  up — a  warning  that  sobered  Darboise, 
but  a  stimulus  to  the  other,  on  the  contrary,  for 
he  pushed  forward,  taking  advantage  of  his  weight, 
drove  him  against  the  trolley,  and  howled  in  his 
face:  "If  you  were  only  a  corporal  yourself,  you'd 
damned  well  get  one  of  these  fists!" 


254  A  Life  at  Stake 

"Come  on,  then!"  Instinctively,  Jean  sought 
the  defensive  attitude — an  enthusiastic  boxer, 
formerly — but  his  unlucky  arm  refused  to  perform 
the  duty  required  of  it.  He  tried  to  break  away 
and  get  more  room  on  his  right,  but  the  kneader 
was  there,  and  sneakingly  pushed  him  back,  grip- 
ping with  both  hands  Jean's  only  sturdy  shoulder. 
There  was  a  quick  scuffle  between  them;  then 
Pincivy  and  others  separated  them. 

' '  The  sergeant !  Where's  the  sergeant  ? ' '  shouted 
the  big  corporal  as  he  savagely  rolled  his  sleeves 
back  on  his  brawny  arms.  "I  promise  you  there'll 
be  a  shindy  about  this ! ' ' 

The  head  of  the  "tent"  was  absent  just  then, 
but  the  tarpaulin  at  the  entry  was  drawn  aside 
and  Gandolphe  appeared.  He  came  up  with  his 
tranquil  step,  adjusting  his  eyeglasses:  "What's 
happening?" 

"Your  little  blackguard  there's  slanging  me!" 

"Which  of  you's  doing  the  slanging?"  The 
sergeant  made  a  sign  to  Pincivy,  as  a  witness  to 
be  trusted,  and  took  him  aside  a  moment.  ' '  Good, 
good;  I  see, "  he  said,  leaving  him. 

The  corporal,  instead  of  returning  to  his  oven, 
remained  planted  opposite  Jean.  Haughtily  he 
went  on:  "My  God!  Calling  me  a  cad!  It's 
not  going  to  end  there!" 

"Darboise, "  said  the  sergeant,  "you'd  better 
apologize  to  the  corporal." 

Jean  shook  his  head.     "No,  no!"  he  said. 

Gandolphe  went  up   to  him   and   whispered: 


In  the  "Bakery"  255 

"Look  here,  old  chap.  I  know  him;  he's  a  dirty 
beast!  Don't  you  get  yourself  into  trouble " 

"I  don't  want  his  apologies,  anyway!"  cried 
the  big  man. 

"You  needn't  fear  that!"  replied  Jean. 

"Darboise,  don't  be  obstinate." 

"I  tell  you  he  can  whistle  for  my  apology!" 

Jean  felt  that  all  eyes  were  focussed  on  him — 
all  hostile  or  curious,  none  friendly.  They  were 
watching  his  humiliation.  His  cheeks  and  his 
eyes  were  blood-red.  A  blast  of  madness  and 
rebellion  urged  him — the  memory  of  so  many 
wrongs  and  disgraces  already  heaped  on  him ;  and 
he  shouted:  "I  say  it  again,  let  them  go  to  the 
front,  all  that  crowd  of  shirkers!  They'd  find 
out  there  if  they  could  treat  men  like  that!  I 
say — I  say 

He  struggled  to  release  himself  from  Sergeant 
Gandolphe's  hand  which  had  just  been  slipped 
over  his  mouth.  Panting  with  fury,  he  broke  away : 
"And  you,  too!  You  back  each  other  up!  All 
alike!  You  haven't  been  under  fire,  either!  You 
don't  know  what  men  are " 

"Be  quiet !  Will  you  be  silent ? ' '  thundered  the 
sergeant. 

"No — I've  had  enough  of  you — you  make  me 
sick,  you  make  me  sick,  all  of  you — all  of  you!" 

Looking  round  the  circle  of  listeners,  Darboise 
saw  an  opening  and  dashed  through  it,  jostling  his 
companions.  In  two  or  three  seconds,  he  was 
outside,  and  in  that  sudden  darkness  he  walked 


256  A  Life  at  Stake 

straight  forward,  bewildered,  his  heart  torn  with 
bitterness. 

Mechanically  he  avoided  the  Office  of  Staff,  in 
front  of  which  Moulin  and  Dubus  were  talking, 
pipe  in  mouth. 

He  had  made  a  detour,  going  round  a  motionless 
train,  when  suddenly  the  gleam  of  lanterns  and 
the  sound  of  footsteps  and  voices  swarmed  in  the 
dark. 

' '  There  he  is !  Stop  him ! ' '  They  were  looking 
for  him! 

Then  Jean  began  to  run,  heedlessly,  like  an 
animal  found  by  the  huntsmen.  Along  by  the 
walls  of  the  joiners'  shops  he  ran.  At  the  northern 
exit  of  the  hangar,  the  sentry  presented  his  bayo- 
net, but,  confused,  let  him  slip  by.  He  passed  a 
"funk-hole"  and  more  waggons.  The  darkness 
was  intense,  but  the  light  from  the  lanterns  of  the 
pursuers — some  of  them  had  taken  a  short  cut — 
shone  feebly  on  him. 

The  quay  was  near,  now.  Should  he  throw 
himself  into  the  water  ?  Ah,  but  for  that  childish 
hope  of  Andree's  return!  The  massive  outline 
of  an  English  ship  showed  up,  and  Jean  thought 
of  hiding  on  board  and  letting  himself  be  taken 
away  in  the  depths  of  the  hold.  He  ran  with  a 
new  impulse,  but  stumbled  against  a  chain  be- 
tween two  posts,  fell  full  length,  and  grazed  his 
knees. 

He  got  up  again,  and  just  then  the  moon  came 
from  behind  the  clouds  and  shone  on  him.  Gan- 


In  the  "Bakery"  257 

dolphe,  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  appeared  before 
him :  ' '  Where  are  you  going  ? ' ' 

He  did  not  reply,  but  drew  back  two  paces. 
Other  running  shadows  were  converging  on  him. 
Jean  sprang  forward.  The  sergeant  opened  wide 
his  arms  to  bar  his  passage.  Then  deliberately, 
with  his  right  fist,  Jean  struck  him  full  in  the  face. 

Gandolphe  uttered  an  exclamation  and  his  arms 
fell.  Jean  was  slipping  by  him — saved!  But 
the  other  treacherously  tripped  him,  and  throwing 

his  arms  up,  he  fell  heavily  again. 
17 


BOOK  VII 

CHAPTER  I 
JEAN'S  MISERY 

"How  many  degrees,  Sister?" 

"Still  a  little  fever!" 

"How  many?" 

Without  answering,  the  nun  carried  the  thermo- 
meter away.  Lying  in  the  hospital  bed,  Darboise 
was  under  no  delusion.  By  his  consuming  thirst, 
the  noisy  turbulence  of  the  blood  in  his  forehead, 
the  fierceness  of  the  fire  that  burned  in  his  flesh, 
he  knew  the  gravity  of  his  consuming  illness. 

Considering  himself,  he  saw  bad  omens  in  the 
discoloured  expectoration  torn  from  his  chest,  in 
his  increasing  sense  of  oppression,  in  the  vomiting 
which  forbade  him  any  nourishment.  On  the 
second  day  he  had  discovered  the  name  of  his 
malady — pneumonia.  He  knew  that  in  that 
disease  the  sixth  day  was  decisive- — death  or 
recovery.  All  depends  on  the  vigour  the  heart 
has  left ;  and  his,  alas,  was  too  much  shaken. 

Long  spells  of  insomnia  were  wearing  him  out. 
With  staring  eyes  he  recalled  the  other  night's 

258 


Jean's  Misery  259 

happenings:  seized  by  the  collar  and  lifted  up, 
after  his  fall  at  Gandolphe's  feet;  led  away, 
detained  and  watched  at  the  Office  of  Staff;  the 
secret  meeting  that  followed  between  witnesses 
and  non-coms.,  his  summons  to  confront  them, 
and  his  obstinate  refusal  to  answer  the  least 
question. 

Led  back  to  quarters,  he  had  to  wait,  first,  until 
the  "chief  "  got  up,  and  then  it  was  that  he  caught 
cold.  Then  he  must  wait,  until  nine  in  the  morn- 
ing, the  captain's  coming,  whose  instant  verdict, 
when  the  story  was  told  him,  was  "Prison!" 

At  once  he  was  steered  to  the  Guilleminot  fort, 
handed  over  to  the  Customs  officer  on  duty,  and 
put  into  a  dark  room,  where  he  found  Pichereau, 
guilty  of  having  "pinched"  a  day  when  last  on 
leave.  There  Jean  sank  down,  feeling  obscurely 
ill.  A  few  hours  later,  the  sinister  shivering 
seized  him. 

Removed  to  the  hospital,  he  had  been  two  nights 
in  bed  in  this  bright  room,  where  eleven  other 
beds  were  ranged  in  rows.  That  night  he  had 
fallen  into  delirium  which  hardly  gave  him  respite 
for  thirty-six  hours.  It  took  the  form  of  a  night- 
mare of  grievous  besettings — the  bullied  toil  at  the 
Textile,  a  skirmish  with  Dubus,  Gandolphe  stand- 
ing in  his  way  with  outspread  arms,  himself  falling, 
a  struggle,  and  a  full-faced  blow !  Sometimes  the 
illusions  took  him  back  to  another  time — that 
pallid  dawn,  the  snow-covered  mounds,  the  heroic 
thrill  through  the  ranks — "Shall  you  get  there, 


260  A  Life  at  Stake 

boys?" — "We  shall  get  there" — the  bugles  sound- 
ing the  glorious  charge  of  Douaumont. 

His  brief  intervals  of  intelligence  were  marked 
by  the  cessation  of  his  excitement  and  the  obdu- 
racy of  his  reserve,  and  by  a  gloomy  look  of  despair 
in  his  eyes.  In  vain  the  Sister  tried  to  cheer  him 
up  with  those  simple  pleasantries  which  succeeded 
so  well  with  others. 

At  the  bottom  of  Jean's  misery  there  was  first 
of  all  a  lively  resentment  against  the  whole  human 
race.  And  then  a  thought  tormented  him  in  spite 
of  himself.  He  would  have  thrust  it  away  had  he 
retained  control  of  himself — "Oh,  Andree,  what 
have  you  against  me?" 

Dead  for  him !  He  hated  her.  It  was  delight- 
ful torture  to  him  to  resurrect  his  grievances 
against  her,  from  that  crafty  flight  up  to  the 
hateful  return  of  her  wedding-ring.  Ah,  how  he 
had  been  deceived  sometimes,  in  imagining  her 
enfranchised  in  comparison  with  him,  and  made 
serenely  free  to  follow  her  own  ends.  He  pictured 
her  in  her  mother's  power,  and  collapsed  in  tears. 
Now,  they  would  both  be  communing  with  each 
other  in  their  pitiful  hatreds,  their  childish  inabil- 
ity to  understand  human  frailty.  No  forgiveness ! 
The  foolish  doctrine  of  the  irreparable,  the  unpar- 
donable! Sometimes  he  wished  for  revenge. 
Doubtless  there  was  only  one  within  his  reach. 
Andree  had  in  vain  gloried  in  implacable  severity. 
If  she  suddenly  heard  of  his  death,  the  only  man 
for  her,  he  gloated  over  the  hope  that  she  would  be 


Jean's  Misery  261 

seized  with  dismay  and  remorse.  So  he  longed 
ferociously  for  the  sixth  day  to  come. 

And  then,  lo,  this  very  idea  ended  by  affecting 
him.  He  thought  of  his  wife  suddenly  thunder- 
struck, sobbing — and  it  moved  him  to  pity.  He 
thought  of  her  in  the  widow's  veil,  convulsively 
clasping  their  little  child  in  her  arms,  the  little 
innocent  who  would  not  understand,  the  fatherless 
child.  Ceasing  to  storm  against  Andree  he  made 
excuses  for  her;  he  understood  the  hatred  she  felt, 
for  it  was  born  of  her  love! 

He  would  not  go  to  the  length  of  absolute  self 
condemnation.  He  was  too  deeply  imbued  with 
the  conviction  that  his  fault  was  inevitable  and 
that  his  heart  had  not  sinned  at  all.  It  was  the 
cruellest  thing  of  all  to  him,  this  feeling  that  the 
misery  fallen  on  their  lives  perhaps  proceeded  from 
a  series  of  chances  ironically  ordered  by  fate.  If 
he  had  not  come  to  St.  Pol  ?  If  he  had  had  differ- 
ent neighbours?  But  for  the  fevered  excitement 
of  that  night  of  the  air-raid?  But  for  the  mon- 
strous conditions,  ye  gods,  of  this  war,  and 
the  base  temptations  into  which  it  had  thrown 
him? 

Thus  the  chains  tightened  again  upon  him. 
His  hatred  slipped  back  into  the  fire  of  the  old 
familiar  furnace.  He  was  a  victim  of  the  war — 
always  the  source  of  universal  misery!  Since 
this  nameless  tyranny  was  sounding  the  death- 
rattle  of  individual  liberty  in  Europe,  along  with 
his  own  independence,  his  right  to  order  his  own 


262  A  Life  at  Stake 

life,  along  with  the  joys  of  that  honest  life  which  he 
only  asked  to  spend  with  his  wife  and  child — since 
by  this  tyranny  he  had  to  be  crucified,  what  could 
he  do  but  hope  for  deliverance  in  three  days  ? 

He  fell  again  into  delirium.  All  one  night  he 
talked  aloud,  cursing  the  horror  of  the  time. 
Even  the  Sister  was  frightened  by  overheard 
fragments  of  talk  which  she  thought  seditious. 
She  inquired:  What  did  they  know  about  this 
little  soldier? 

It  troubled  her  to  hear  from  an  attendant  that 
he  had  been  brought  there  straight  from  prison. 
She  thought  it  her  duty  to  inform  the  head  sur- 
geon. But  Dr.  Alquier,  a 'worthy  fellow,  declared : 
"It's  all  foolishness,  that!  The  important  thing 
is  to  get  him  out  of  it.  " 

The  major  was  secretly  affected  by  the  fate  of 

this  lad,  in  danger  of  dying  here,  at  the  remotest 

end  of  France,  and  cut  off  from  affection !     From 

Gandolphe,  who  came  more  than  once  for  news, 

he  learned  that  his  patient  was  married.     Why 

not  send  for  his  wife?     He  even  mentioned  it  to 

Darboise,    who    thanked    him,    and    murmured: 

"We've  made  a  mess  of  it,  and  separated!" 

"One  makes  it  up,  at  adverse  times!" 

"No;  I  would  rather — she  knew  nothing.  " 

Should   they   disregard   his   wish?     That   was 

the  feeling  both  of  Alquier  and  Gandolphe.     But 

unfortunately  the  home  address  had  just  then  gone 

astray,  through  some  carelessness  at  the  Bureau. 

Gandolphe  then  began  to  hunt  up  Jean's  cousins  at 


Jean's  Misery  263 

Malo,  whose  name  even  he  did  not  know,  so  forty- 
eight  hours  more  were  lost. 

The  critical  day  arrived.  The  morning  Dar- 
boise  spent  in  feverish  excitement.  He  threw  off 
the  bedclothes;  his  face  was  distorted  as  he  re- 
peated fierce  imprecations  on  his  enemies,  real  or 
imaginary.  It  was  above  all  against  Gandolphe 
that  his  rage  was  aroused — the  man  who  took  the 
side  of  his  torturers,  ordered  him  to  beg  pardon, 
roughly  shut  his  mouth,  and  then  barred  his  way. 
Opening  his  eyes  once  he  thought  he  saw  him 
behind  the  glass  door.  He  jumped  up  and  tried 
to  get  out  of  bed — "No!  Don't  let  him  come  to 
mock  me!"  He  would  not  have  gone  far  on  his 
poor  shaky  legs. 

Towards  noon,  a  sudden  torpor  succeeded  to  his 
frenzy.  That  was  the  most  alarming  phase,  that 
in  which  the  patient's  heart  weakens,  and  he  may 
slip  through  one's  fingers.  His  pulse  grew  slower 
and  feebler.  The  major,  who  came  expressly  at 
two  o'clock,  injected  something,  and  the  Sister 
held  a  bag  of  oxygen  to  his  lips. 

The  d'Estignards,  at  last  informed,  hastened 
to  the  hospital.  They  were  not  allowed  in  the 
ward,  but  were  received  by  Gandolphe.  Hearing 
their  astonished  questions,  "Why  is  his  wife  not 
there?"  the  sergeant  scented  a  mystery;  they 
had  not  been  told,  then,  of  the  parting? — which 
surprised  him,  too. 

They  said  they  would  wire  to  Andree,  and  he 
dissuaded  them,  thinking  that  it  would  only  be  a 


264  A  Life  at  Stake 

torture  for  the  dying  man.  For  excuse,  he  gave 
them  the  affair  at  the  Textile,  which  must  be 
settled  first,  and  he  pretended  not  to  think  Jean 
in  great  danger. 

But  he  was  seized  with  remorse  when,  before 
going  away,  he  was  allowed  to  glance  at  Darboise, 
along  with  little  Vechaud,  whom*  he  had  told  of 
the  illness.  They  were  horrified  at  the  emaciated 
face,  the  short  and  whistling  breath.  Silence 
hovered  in  the  room  and  people  walked  on  tiptoe. 
It  seemed  as  if  they  were  arranging  a  funeral  vigil 
already. 


CHAPTER  II 

A   HEAVY   BLOW 

AND  then  at  nine  o'clock  at  night,  the  fever 
suddenly  abated  and  the  oppression  decreased. 
The  night  was  more  tranquil,  and  the  next  day 
the  surgeon  and  the  Sister  smiled  at  each  other. 

"Saved?" 

"He's  returning  from  a  long  way  off!" 

The  convalescence  was  speedy.  After  three 
days  he  knew  the  delight  of  returning  appetite — 
and  of  the  golden  "mouillette, "  which  goes 
straight  from  egg  to  mouth.  He  felt  that  he  had 
turned  a  corner,  a  sort  of  rejuvenation. 

At  once  he  found,  among  his  companions  of  the 
ward,  some  good  comrades,  like  those  whom  he 
used  to  reckon  at  the  front.  How  many  games  of 
cards  they  played!  Maxence,  a  thin-faced  cor- 
poral, made  a  stay  of  several  days  at  his  side,  and 
he  was  a  chess-player.  Wounded  and  sent  back 
from  the  Somme,  he  was  a  bold  optimist,  of  real 
geniality ;  a  fearless  fellow  whom  the  length  of  the 
war  in  no  way  discouraged,  and  who  whistled  his 
way  through  the  storm  like  a  Paris  sparrow.  His 
stay  in  hospital  coincided  with  the  French  advance 

265 


266  A  Life  at  Stake 

of  the  end  of  August.  Combles  was  seriously 
threatened,  and  the  French  reaction  in  front  of 
Verdun  found  Darboise  affected — his  Verdun ! 

And  when  now  he  recalled  from  time  to  time 
the  worst  cause  of  his  trouble,  the  break-up  of  his 
home,  it  was  curious  that  the  situation  no  longer 
seemed  to  him  quite  so  tragic.  He  put  off  until  an- 
other day  writing  again  to  Andree — as  long  as  she 
did  not  forestall  him!  The  chains  that  bound 
them  together  were  so  mighty!  He  felt  coming 
to  life  again  within  him  a  carnal  ardour  the  object 
of  which  was  no  longer  doubtful.  In  his  fleeting 
memories  of  Germaine,  he  was  struck  with  aston- 
ishment. Was  he  capable  of  another  such  weak- 
ness? She  was  only  a  passer-by!  Half  restored 
to  confidence  in  himself,  persuaded  that  she  was 
getting  over  it,  and  that  the  old  woman  had  laid 
down  her  weapons  (since  he  heard  no  more  men- 
tion of  that  affair),  his  only  wish  was  to  cast  a  veil 
over  the  mistake  of  a  moment. 

His  surroundings  satisfied  him.  Visitors  would 
have  annoyed  him.  As  soon  as  his  convalescence 
was  certain,  the  d'Estignards  had  asked  if  he  would 
see  them.  Jean  wondered  by  whom  they  had  been 
kept  informed.  As  he  had  just  looked  at  himself 
in  the  mirror  and  had  taken  offence  at  his  faded 
looks  and  fortnight's  beard,  he  had  sent  word  that 
he  was  resting. 

Vechaud  came  the  next  day,  was  admitted,  and 
stayed  twenty  minutes;  he  was  very  amiable  but 
not  very  interesting.  He  had  hardly  gone  when 


A  Heavy  Blow  267 

the  nun  appeared  again:  "The  sergeant  wants 
to  know  if  he  can  come  too  and  say  good-day  to 
you." 

"What  sergeant?" 

"The  one  who  often  comes. " 

Surprised,  Jean  asked  her  to  describe  him.  If 
he  had  a  short  beard  and  eyeglasses,  he  thought  he 
knew — "Yes,  let  him  come  in!" 

It  was  Gandolphe  in  fact.  There  was  a  dark 
place  on  his  nose,  the  mark  of  Jean's  fist. 

No  longer  inflamed  against  him  as  in  his  delirious 
hours,  but  still  hostile  towards  him,  Jean  was 
chilly,  and  let  him  flounder  about  among  conven- 
tional remarks.  But  he  asked  him:  "It  wasn't 
you,  by  chance,  that  told  my  cousins?" 

"Yes,  it  was." 

"Did  you  know  them?" 

"I'd  saluted  them,  before." 

Darboise  suppressed  an  ungracious  remark,  but 
he  drummed  with  his  fingers  on  the  sheets  in  a 
way  which  told  of  his  irritation. 

When  he  was  on  the  point  of  withdrawing,  the 
sergeant  said:  "About  that  case  of  yours " 

"Well?"  Jean  looked  at  him.  His  case?  An 
anxiety,  that,  which  he  had  been  wrong  to  cut  out 
of  his  thoughts.  Was  there  some  fresh  develop- 
ment ?  As  he  was  about  to  put  a  straight  question, 
a  foolish  pride  stopped  him. 

"I'm  looking  after  it,"  said  the  sergeant,  "and 
I  haven't  given  up  hope — "  and  he  went  away. 

What  had  he  come  for  ?    Was  he  wanting  thanks 


268  A  Life  at  Stake 

for  not  having  envenomed  (as  it  seemed)  his 
story  of  all  those  unlucky  scenes  at  the  "bakery"? 
Instead  of  gratitude,  Jean  felt  only  unjustifiable 
irritation  towards  him  by  whose  fault  his  time  of 
tranquillity  had  come  to  an  end. 

For  the  very  next  day,  the  captain  and  the 
lieutenant  were  announced,  and  they  came  to 
examine.  For  this  occasion,  Fauvel  had  thought 
he  ought  to  decorate  himself  in  the  uniform  he 
reserved  for  great  occasions,  and  comically  added 
his  helmet  and  revolver,  considering  himself  on 
duty.  Obviously  it  was  he  who  was  directing  and 
pressing  the  matter.  Papa  Meunier  had  looked 
at  his  watch  as  he  came  in,  which  meant  that  he 
had  left  his  fishing-tackle  outside  the  door. 

The  interrogatory  began. 

"Let  us  hear  your  version,  "  said  the  lieutenant, 
with  overdone  gravity. 

Darboise  had  to  resurrect  the  scene  at  the 
Textile.  In  this,  he  was  taken  at  a  disadvantage, 
for  he  had  up  till  now  dismissed  the  scene  from  his 
memory,  instead  of  thinking  it  over  and  arranging 
it  so  that  it  would  sound  a  plausible  plea  when 
the  time  came  to  present  it.  So  it  was  an  im- 
promptu story,  under  the  gaze  of  Fauvel,  whose 
frequent  interruptions,  incriminating  or  imbecile, 
nearly  drove  him  to  distraction. 

A  main  cause  of  vexation  to  Jean  was  the 
meanness  of  the  part  he  had  played  in  the  matter — 
the  unfortunate  drudge,  rebelling  against  the 
whims  of  his  masters!  It  was  evident  from  his 


A  Heavy  Blow  269 

explanations  that  he  had  been  deficient  in  his 
duty,  which,  after  all  consisted  of  "holding 
himself  at  the  disposition"  of  the  bake-house 
corporal. 

"That's  the  point,"  said  Fauvel  decisively; 
' '  you  had  no  right  to  argue,  and  especially  to  re- 
fuse to  obey." 

"I  did  not  refuse— 

"He  says  you  did. " 

In  vain  Darboise  argued  the  outrageous  attitude 
of  the  two  cronies,  and  his  own  patience.  It 
was  labour  thrown  away.  Fauvel  repeated:  "It's 
very  serious!" 

So,  wanting  to  know  where  he  was,  Jean  began 
to  ask  questions  in  his  turn: 

"In  short,  then,  how  does  the — the  matter 
stand?" 

"It's — following  its  course.  " 

"What  of  it?  The  complaint?  Is  there  a 
complaint?" 

"Several!" 

"From  whom?" 

Fauvel' s  deprecating  gesture  suggested  pro- 
fessional discretion: 

"All  I  can  say  is — that  the  reports  concur." 

Darboise  insisted :  "  Is  it — really  a  matter — of  a 
court-martial?" 

"I  don't  think  you'll  escape  that!" 

"I  thought — Sergeant  Gandolphe  told  me — 
that  he  hoped— 

"Gandolphe?"  the  lieutenant  snorted,  with  a 


270  A  Life  at  Stake 

shrug  of  his  shoulders,  "it's  he  who  attacks  you 
the  most!" 

Darboise  was  left  in  consternation.  The  blow 
was  a  mortally  heavy  one.  The  sergeant's  atti- 
tude hitherto  had  given  him  the  innocent  idea 
that  his  worst  mistake,  his  real  fault,  that  of 
bruising  the  face  of  a  superior  officer,  had  been 
passed  over.  Now  he  was  roughly  overcome  by  a 
certainty  of  the  contrary.  He  had  trusted  in 
appearances,  in  Gandolphe's  pretended  solicitude 
towards  him.  Yet  he  was  an  officer,  and  no  doubt 
he  felt  himself  obliged,  by  virtue  of  his  stripes,  etc. ! 
In  making  out  his  report,  no  doubt  he  did  not 
feel  at  liberty  to  omit  any  of  the  facts — the  fact! 
Perhaps  he  had  been  satisfied  to  relate  them  with- 
out malice;  perhaps  he  had  even  spoken — the 
simpleton ! — of  extenuating  circumstances.  Either 
way,  it  seemed  to  Darboise  that  his  danger  was 
evident;  yes,  the  court-martial!  And  they  don't 
trifle  in  these  court-martials  in  the  zone  of  war! 
Assault  and  battery  on  a  non-com.!  No  one 
could  say  that  the  verdict  would  not  be  death. 
At  the  least,  five  or  ten  years  of  hard  labour! 
Ten  years!  Jean  laughed  to  himself,  a  little 
jerky  laugh.  Ten  years!  He  shrank  visibly. 
No,  he  would  not  submit  to  that!  Should  he — 
should  he ? 

But  he  declined  to  come  to  a  decision  yet — some 
providential  path  might  open  before  him,  some 
solace  appear.  (But  what?  He  had  a  presenti- 
ment of  one,  and  dared  not  confess  it  to  himself.) 


A  Heavy  Blow  271 

But  his  whole  enfeebled  soul  went  out  in  vehement 
bitterness  against  Gandolphe,  the  impostor  who 
was  there  but  yesterday!  Ah,  how  Jean  hated 
him — more  than  Fauvel,  more  than  Dubus ! 

But  Gandolphe  seemed  to  have  got  wind  of 
the  unmasking  of  his  duplicity.  One,  two,  three 
days  went  by  and  there  was  no  word  of  him. 


CHAPTER  III 

CHRISTIAN,    A   MARINE 

As  Dr.  Alquier  passed  Jean's  bed  that  morning 
he  handed  a  paper  to  him  in  silence.  It  was  a 
"service  note"  from  the  Bureau,  asking  "on  what 
date  approximately  the  soldier  Darboise,  under 
treatment  at  Hospital  49,  would  be  in  a  condition 
to  be  recommitted  to  the  Guilleminot  Prison." 

"What  are  you  replying,  major?" 

"I'm  telling  them — not  to  worry  me.  Seriously, 
did  one  ever  hear  such  an  idea?" 

The  surgeon  laughed :  "I  don't  regard  you  yet  as 
convalescent;  and,  by  gad,  just  to  rile  them,  I'm 
wondering  whether  I  won't  send  you  away  'in 
convalescence.'  Besides,  from  what  I  know  of 
your  affair,  they're  exaggerating,  they're  running 
riot." 

Darboise  feared  the  indiscretion  of  a  direct  ques- 
tioning, but  the  major  was  called  away. 

The  menace  over  him  had  leaked  out,  and 
curiosity  was  kindled;  it  was  chattered  about  in 
the  ward.  And  at  night,  Darboise's  new  neigh- 
bour, a  marine  called  Christian,  catechised  him: 

"Is  it  true  that  you've  come  out  of  quod? " 
272 


Christian,  a  Marine  273 

"Yes." 

"And — that  you're  going  back?" 

"Possibly!" 

"What  have  you  done,  old  pal?" 

Darboise  shrugged  his  shoulders:  "I  gave  'em 
back-talk,  to  be  sure!" 

The  marine  lowered  his  voice:  "Is  it  all  bunkum 
that  you — pitched  one  of  'em  into  the  canal?" 

Jean  began  to  laugh:  "Not  that.  But  in  the 
end — there  was  one  of  'em  I — handed  a  clout  to!" 

"Did  you  dare,  old  pal?  You're  a  trump!" 
murmured  the  other,  admiringly. 

They  talked  till  late,  in  undertones,  that  night. 
And  the  following  days  cemented  their  unexpected 
friendship. 

To  begin  with,  they  had  quickly  discovered 
points  in  common :  They  had  both  been  wounded 
— they  were  of  those  who  had  the  right  to  talk! 
They  were  not  of  that  soft-job  crowd  of  which 
there  was  one  in  that  very  ward.  (They  meant 
young  Rocher,  a  senator's  nephew,  whom  they 
had  just  put  into  hospital  to  be  coddled  for  the 
Reserve.)  Especially  were  they  both  rebels — 
that  was  their  rallying-cry — rebels  against  what 
they  had  seen  and  suffered  in  the  course  of  those 
two  years. 

This  Christian  had  no  doubt  been  a  good  sort  in 
civil  life — he  had  been  employed  by  a  cab  pro- 
prietor at  Choisy-le-Roy.  As  a  result  of  the  war, 
he  was  changing  for  the  worse.  He  had  made 
the  great  blunder,  he  said,  of  enlisting  when  he 
it 


274  A  Life  at  Stake 

was  eighteen — he  belonged  to  Class  '17.  Wounded, 
put  into  the  Reserve,  he  had  been  taken  again 
as  "fit, "  and  wounded  once  more.  This  time  he 
was  crippled — his  right  hand  and  wrist  were  use- 
less. So  they  had  turned  him  into  the  "auxili- 
ary, "  where  they  had  "chivvied"  him  so,  he  said, 
between  examinations  and  re-examinations  that 
he  had  asked  if  he  might  go  back  and  be  finished 
off  at  the  front. 

He  had  come  from  his  depot,  almost  literally 
vomiting  up  the  sights  he  had  seen :  ' '  When  they 
know,  after  the  war!  But  they  won't  know; — 
where  shall  we  be?" 

As  he  talked,  Jean  rediscovered  all  the  bitter 
discouragement  which  had  taken  the  place  of  the 
generous  enthusiasm  found  in  his  own  heart  at 
the  beginning.  Christian  returned  continually  to 
this  physical  defect,  this  mutilation  which  would 
prevent  him  from  following  his  employment  ever 
again.  Certainly  he  would  refuse  to  let  himself 
be  taught  another : 

' '  I  shall  tell  those  chaps  that  took  me  out  of  the 
Reserve  last  year  that  they  can  support  me  now,— 
I'm  a  charge  on  their  hands." 

"They're  more  likely  to  stop  your  pension!" 

"I  know.  They're  trying  to  work  it  already. 
They  want  me  to  be  're-examined'  next  year. 
I'm  waiting  to  see  them  at  it.  Look  out  for  the 
sack,  the  day  when  they  fall  out  with  us  for  good, 
us,  the  five  hundred  thousand  knocked  out!" 

The  light  of  spite  and  suffering  flamed  in  his 


Christian,  a  Marine 

eyes.  One  saw  in  him  a  man  bereft  of  all  mag- 
nanimous feelings,  a  wanderer  ripening  for  prison 
— or  perhaps  worse.  He  drank,  of  course.  How 
did  he  manage  to  get  rum  for  himself  every  day? 
Jean  declined  when  it  was  offered  him,  and  dared 
not  try  to  dissuade  him  from  seeking  refuge  from 
his  troubles  in  it. 

He  was  a  very  different  type  from  Decante. 
Darboise's  way  of  looking  at  things  was  widening, 
but  it  showed  him  only  a  horizon  pregnant  with 
storm.  He  began  to  foresee  the  horror  of  the  social 
convulsions  which  would  turn  Europe  upside  down 
tomorrow.  This  man  was  a  sample  of  the  hungry 
rebels  who  would  come  up  to  the  gates  of  those 
in  high  places  to  proclaim  their  responsibility  as 
fomenters  of  the  catastrophe,  to  demand  their 
heads,  even  were  they  to  pay  for  it  with  their  own. 

Observe  that  Christian's  friendship,  their  pro- 
claimed intimacy,  was  not  long  in  prejudicing 
Jean  in  the  eyes  of  the  other  inmates  of  the  ward. 
The  marine  lost  no  chance  of  uttering  his  revolu- 
tionary opinions,  and  notably  in  the  matter  of 
religion,  which  involved  open  war  with  the  Sister. 
Darboise  and  he  ended  by  forming  a  separate 
company.  The  nun,  already  cool  towards  Jean 
by  what  she  knew  of  his  "affair,"  now  dropped 
him  definitely  and  even  accused  him  of  ingrati- 
tude. She  did  not  hesitate  to  express  aloud  her 
wish  for  the  departure  of  "those  two. " 

She  slyly  tried  to  turn  the  head  surgeon  against 
Jean,  but  did  not  succeed.  On  the  contrary 


276  A  Life  at  Stake 

Alquier  showed  more  interest  in  him  every  day, 
stopping  by  his  pillow  every  morning  to  say  a  few 
words  to  him.  Once  he  questioned  him:  "You 
are  an  artist?" 

"Yes,  major." 

"Have  you  been  able  to  do  anything  since  the 
beginning  of  the  war?" 

Jean  mentioned  the  few  things  he  had  finished 
last  winter,  at  Cavalaire. 

"Cavalaire?  I  know  it.  Who  was  looking 
after  you  down  there?" 

' '  It  was — my  wife. "     Darboise  blushed. 

A  good  sort!  Jean,  acquiring  confidence,  put  a 
question  to  him  one  day  when  the  other  had  just 
applied  the  stethoscope.  The  top  of  his  right 
lung — was  there  still  a  suspicious  spot? 

"Suspicious?  It  will  be  that  all  your  life.  I 
should  propose  you  for  the  Reserve,  but — well, 
there!  They  send  home  only  those  who  have 
caves  in  their  lungs!  But  quite  certainly  you're 
affected,  and  if  you're  not  very  careful 

The  frankness  of  the  statement  did  not  fail  to 
trouble  Darboise,  and  he  tossed  about  all  night. 
Ah,  what  confirmation  of  the  major's  words !  He 
was  still  coughing;  he  was  still  thinner;  and  sud- 
denly he  noticed  that  light  sweating  on  his  legs. 
He  was  on  the  perilous  descent !  And  if  that  was 
to  be  his  future,  that  menace  of  the  court-martial 
that  he  must  rot  in  prison ? 

In  vain  had  he  diverted  his  thoughts  from  that 
prospect.  It  forced  itself  on  him.  Actually  his 


Christian,  a  Marine  277 

own  physical  and  moral  exhaustion  were  the  first 
steps  towards  the  tomb,  from  which  the  prison-cell 
is  not  far  removed.  Ah,  what  revulsion  constrained 
him  against  that  fate!  No.  He  confronted  the 
position.  If  he  had  really  to  be  tried,  and  if  he 
were  condemned — well  then!  One  impulse  of 
energy  might  at  least  commute  his  sentence ! 

Why  should  he  not  kill  himself?  Who  would 
mourn  for  him?  He  went  through  a  mental  list 
of  his  friends,  of  the  youth  among  whom  his  own 
life  had  begun.  Not  one  was  left,  not  one — save 
Augueres,  the  last  of  his  comrades  of  the  good 
old  days!  Earnestly  he  wished  he  could  see  him 
again;  he  would  write  to  him — tomorrow! 

And  Andree? — a  voice  whispered  to  him. 

And  at  once  another  voice,  a  sneering  one, 
arose,  his  voice  in  her,  the  voice  of  her  who  aban- 
doned and  repelled  him,  who  was  the  prime  cause 
of  his  misfortunes.  It  left  him  in  the  same  stage 
of  hatred,  of  desire  to  do  her  harm  in  his  turn. 
That  very  night  he  determined  the  wording  of  the 
cynical  deceitful  letter  in  which  he  would  lay  his 
death  at  her  door,  the  letter  which  he  swore  should 
be  found  on  him — in  any  event. 


CHAPTER  IV 

GOOD   NEWS 

HE  was  chatting  with  Christian  when  the 
latter  said :  "  A  non-com. ! ' ' 

Jean  turned  his  head  towards  the  door,  and 
his  blood  rushed  back  to  his  heart.  Gandolphe, 
brazening  it  out!  Unless  he  was  simply  uncon- 
scious  ? 

With  tranquil  face  and  steady  eyes  the  sergeant 
came  up  and  said,  ''Good  morning!" 

Darboise  saw  the  outstretched  hand.  He  had 
never  in  his  life  refused  his  own  to  any  one.  Yet 
this  time  he  withheld  it — though  he  had  to  press 
hard  to  keep  it  down  on  the  sheet.  Three  eternal 
seconds  went  by.  Then  Gandolphe  drew  back  a 
step: 

"Well,  what's  up,  Darboise?"  he  said,  in  a 
changed  tone,  "you  don't  want  to  shake  hands 
with  me?" 

"I'd  rather  not,"  replied  Jean  in  a  colourless 
voice. 

The  sergeant  had  gone  very  white.  Making 
as  if  he  was  going  away,  he  added:  "So  much  the 
worse  for  you ! ' ' 

278 


Good  News  279 

With  all  his  strength  Darboise  wished  that  the 
man  would  really  go.  But  Gandolphe  was  master 
of  himself  again.  He  went  to  fetch  a  chair,  came 
back,  and  sat  down,  and  said  seriously : 

"Why  have  you  such  a  grudge  against  me?" 

"I  don't  like — two-faced  people." 

"And — and  I'm  one  of  them?" 

"Yes." 

' '  Darboise, ' '  the  sergeant  went  on,  " you  want  to 
hurt  me.  You've  done  it,  as  a  matter  of  fact; 
you're  unjust.  But  I  think  you're  the  victim  of 
some  illusion.  I  have  a  horror  of  misunderstand- 
ings. What  have  you  got  against  me?" 

"I — I  can't  see  that  your  behaviour " 

"In  what?" 

"I  want  nothing  from  you!  You  come  to  see 
me  here;  you  pose  as  a  friend;  and  at  the  same 
time  I  know  that  you're  making  a  report  against 
me." 

"Ah,  it's  a  matter  of  the  report?" 

' '  Quite  enough,  surely ! ' ' 

"I  was  forced  to  do  it.  " 

"Forced?"  Jean  jumped  at  the  word  and  his 
anger  flamed  up  again:  "Forced?  By  the  regu- 
lations? By  the  habit  of  discipline?  It  was  a 
penalty  you  had  to  have,  eh?  And  you'll  send 
me  to  the  court-martial ?  Right  you  are!  I  shall 
go.  And  I  swear  that  if  either  you  or  the  cor- 
poral's expecting  apologies,  you  can  whistle  for 
them.  I  don't  care  a  damn  for  the  lot  of  you, 
understand  me.  I'll  repeat  anywhere  you  like 


28o  A  Life  at  Stake 

what  I  gave  you  in  the  face  and  what's  enraged 
you;  I'll  repeat  that  we're  fed  up  with  being 
bullied  here  at  Dunkerque  by  chaps  like  you  that 
have  never  risked  your  skins !" 

Rising  from  his  seat,  Gandolphe  had  several 
times  tried  to  interrupt,  but  had  every  time  been 
silenced  by  the  cataract  of  words.  It  was  only 
now  that  the  sergeant  could  say,  looking  at  the 
Sister,  ' '  Your  patient  is  still  feverish ! ' ' 

"No,  "  said  the  nun,  frowning,  and  chagrined  as 
well  by  the  disturbance,  "he's  only  too  much  in  his 
right  mind ! ' ' 

"That's  what  I  am!"  cried  Jean,  sitting  up  on 
the  bed  with  crimson  face.  "I  know  what  I'm 
doing,  and  what  I'm  saying!"  Seeking  a  tender 
spot,  he  cried  again:  "Let  me  tell  you — I  don't 
regret  that  blow!  I'm  glad  to  see  that  you're 
still  marked  after  a  fortnight!" 

As  Gandolphe,  still  unmoved,  allowed  his  eyes 
to  wander  round  the  room  Jean  shouted : 

"I  suppose  you're  looking  for  witnesses  again?" 
Then  to  his  neighbour:  "I  say,  Christian,  you'll 
bear  me  out  that  I  haven't  said — half  what  I've 
got  to  say?" 

The  marine  smiled  sneeringly  at  the  non-com., 
who  had  indeed  come  to  the  right  people  to  hear 
about  his  faults.  Darboise  was  silent,  content 
that  he  had  burned  his  boats.  Gandolphe's 
position  was  becoming  extremely  delicate.  The 
atmosphere  was  hostile  to  him;  for  even  the 
sensible  ones  in  the  ward  were  obviously  con- 


Good  News  281 

vinced  that  for  Darboise  to  be  driven  to  such  an 
extreme  of  imprudence — ah,  what  must  he  have 
suffered  at  the  hands  of  that  non-com. !  The 
nun,  too,  made  a  quiet  attempt  to  show  the 
visitor  out. 

"Excuse  me,  Sister,"  said  Gandolphe,  "I've 
got  something  to  say  which  might  be  useful. " 

"You  can  come  again  another  day,"  she  said 
deprecatingly ; ' '  today,  when  he's  unnerved ' 

"Excuse  me, "  the  sergeant  insisted;  "since  this 
is  what  I  came  for. " 

He  took  again  from  the  Sister's  hands  the  chair 
which  she  was  moving  away  from  the  bed,  and 
placed  it  by  Jean's  pillow.  Then  Jean,  disgusted 
at  such  a  lack  of  dignity,  rolled  over  with  a  move- 
ment of  insulting  contempt,  and  turned  his  back. 

The  sergeant  was  not  rebuffed:  "Your  affair— 
I  was  bringing  you — good  news, "  he  said. 

In  a  low  voice — what  need  to  let  the  whole 
ward  know  ? — he  began  to  set  out  the  course  which 
things  had  taken  and  were  taking.  He  took  the 
matter  back  to  its  beginning.  A  report?  Cer- 
tainly; he  had  been  careful  to  write  one  on  the 
spot.  Why?  Because  it  was  the  only  item 
capable  of  weighing  in  the  balance  against  the 
effect  of  the  other  account,  the  one  that  the  bake- 
house corporal  had  scribbled  in  an  access  of  rage. 
It  was  an  awkward  task.  Straightforwardly,  the 
sergeant  besought  Jean  to  say  if  it  were  not  so. 
He  had  reported  nothing  but  what  was  absolutely 
true.  He  had  apportioned  the  wrong,  accused 


282  A  Life  at  Stake 

the  bakehouse  section  of  harshness  and  their 
"drudge"  of  a  liveliness  in  language  which  he 
regretted.  It  was  possible  on  both  sides  that 
they  had  been  mistaken  in  the  other's  words. 
His  conclusion,  in  short,  was  divided  responsi- 
bility. 

Not  a  word  did  Gandolphe  say  of  the — the 
principal  fact,  and  Jean  did  not  know  what  to 
think. 

"I  palliated  things  as  much  as  I  could, "  the 
sergeant  went  on,  "and  Morinet  was  even  furious. 
He  refused  to  hand  my  report  on  or  to  receive  it. 
You  know  how  they  all  hang  together  at  the 
depot.  I  had  to  have  a  set-to  with  him. " 

As  Jean  showed  not  the  least  sign  of  changing 
his  attitude,  Gandolphe  said:  "You  don't  believe 
me?"  He  fumbled  in  his  pockets:  "I  want  to 
read  you  the  rough  draft  of  that  report  so  that 
you  may  judge  of  my  purpose." 

He  read  it  to  Jean,  and  it  was  a  marvel  of 
discretion.  There  was  no  allusion  in  it — Jean 
was  on  the  look-out  for  it — to  the  personal  outrage 
he  had  endured. 

"So  you  see!"  the  sergeant  concluded,  folding 
his  paper:  "Seeing  that  the  two  reports  mutually 
cancelled  each  other,  they  remained  some  time 
without  coming  to  a  decision.  I  ought  to  have 
told  you  that  the  brigadier  was  away  on  leave. 
Up  to  yesterday,  mind,  I  was  afraid  we  could 
not  get  you  out  of — the  court-martial.  Today  I 
came  to  tell  you  that — I  think — after  the  steps 


Good  News  283 

taken  by — after  the  steps  taken,  the  proceedings 
are  averted." 

At  this  point  only,  Jean  consented  to  turn 
round.  In  a  weary  tone  he  said:  "I  assure  you  I 
didn't  care,  that  I  don't  care  about  anything!" 

"That  shouldn't  be  so. " 

"That's  how  it  is,  all  the  same!" 

In  truth  he  was  now  far  from  feeling  the  delight 
that  should  have  arisen.  Remorse  was  creeping 
in — this  poor  Gandolphe,  wrongly  judged  after  all ! 
He  who  believed  he  was  bringing  his  salvation ! 

Desirous  of  renewing  the  conversation,  and  curi- 
ous as  well  to  elucidate  a  point  that  was  puzzling 
him,  he  said:  "But  you  said — that  some  one  had 
taken  steps  on  my  account?" 

"Certainly." 

"Who?" 

"Some  friends — of  yours. " 

"Some  friends?"  The  word  smote  Jean,  who 
thought  himself  so  solitary  in  the  world.  He 
looked  at  Gandolphe.  Friends?  An  idea  crossed 
his  mind . 

"It  wasn't — it  wasn't —  He  hesitated  to  say 
the  name  of  the  d'Estignards.  The  thought  that 
they  were  acquainted  with  the  whole  business — 
and  Andr£e  might  be  also ! — was  so  unpleasant  to 
him  that  he  said  it  only  in  a  doubtful,  almost 
aggressive  tone : 

"I  hope  you  haven't ?" 

' '  Yes.  Your  cousins,  in  the  first  place, ' '  the  other 
said ;  "  I  fancied  that,  with  their  influence — 


284  A  Life  at  Stake 

Jean's  face  was  clouded  again. 

"It  was  necessary  to  save  you,  anyhow.  I'm 
not  sorry.  If  M.  d'Estignard  could  not  do  any- 
thing himself,  at  least  it  was  through  him  that  I 
was  able,  seeing  they  were  very  intimate,  to  set 
the  doctor  going. " 

"What  doctor?" 

"Alquier." 

"The  major?" 

' '  Exactly ;  and  he  went  to  see  the  Superintendent 
of  the  dockyard." 

The  ramifications  of  this  involved  plot,  with 
this  explanation  of  Dr.  Alquier's  attitude  of  late, 
all  struck  Jean  as  belonging  to  the  realm  of  ro- 
mance. He  was  divided  between  two  feelings.  It 
irritated  his  misanthropy  that  so  many  people  had 
busied  themselves  on  his  behalf  and  without  his 
knowledge,  yet  he  was  touched  with  gratitude 
at  the  same  time  because  they  had  acted,  as 
Gandolphe  said,  with  friendly  intent. 

His  eyes  were  fixed  on  Gandolphe,  who  was 
waiting  in  an  awkward  attitude  and  apparently 
heedless.  He  looked  past  the  reddish  beard  and 
the  wrinkled  forehead  to  meet  and  join  the  straight 
and  candid  gaze;  and  so  that  his  apology  might 
be  seen  by  the  watching  witnesses  just  as  his 
insults  had  been,  he  raised  himself  and  held  out 
his  hand : 

"I've  behaved  like  a  brute;  will  you  forgive  me, 
sergeant?" 


Good  News  285 

The  same  evening,  Jean  tried  to  thank  Dr.  Al- 
quier,  but  he  stopped  him  at  once.  Pooh !  His 
part  had  ended  with  whispering  a  word  to  the 
Superintendent — "who  didn't  have  to  exert  him- 
self much;  the  man  you  should  be  grateful  to  is 
your  friend  the  sergeant!" 

"What  has  he  done?" 

"Don't  you  know?"  Gandolphe,  it  appeared, 
had  succeeded  in  interesting  one  of  his  old  friends, 
a  person  of  influence,  who  had  sent  a  telegram  to 
the  depot  that  it  was  desired  that  the  whole 
matter  should  be  "arranged. " 

The  good  news  had  spread,  and  Darboise  was 
overwhelmed  with  the  congratulations  of  the 
ward. 

"He  desires  not  the  death  of  the  sinner!"  said 
the  Sister,  and  she  offered  up  as  sacrifice,  to  cele- 
brate the  event,  two  pots  of  plum  jam. 

Jean  looked  cheerfully  upon  all.  In  appear- 
ance careless  and  radiant,  he  was  at  heart  morose. 
He  was  calling  his  reasons  for  living  to  account — if 
his  home  was  broken  up,  what  was  the  good  of  it  ? 
(Unless  there  should  be  a  letter  in  a  little  while !) 

Christian  was  the  only  one  to  notice  that  there 
was  something  artificial  in  his  playfulness,  and  he 
asked  him : 

"Have  you  some  other  worries?" 

For  this  intuition,  Jean  gave  thanks  with  a 
friendly  sigh.  But — it  wasn't  to  Christian  that 
he  would  talk  of  Andr6e.  He  regretted  then  his 
dear  dead  friends,  the  honest  confidants  of  his 


286  A  Life  at  Stake 

youth,  like  Templier,  the  first  to  whom  he  had 
spoken  of  his  fiancee  by  her  Christian  name. 
The  movement  of  his  thoughts  ended  with  the 
memory  of  Augueres.  How  much  would  he  not 
have  given  on  such  evenings  as  that,  to  be  able  to 
see  him  again  without  turning  his  head,  to  see  him 
affectionate  and  thoughtful,  in  the  next  bed! 


CHAPTER  V 

GANDOLPHE   AND   THE    D'ESTIGNARDS 

YET  several  days  followed  of  recovered  serenity. 
Relations  had  been  established  again  between 
Jean  and  his  ward-mates.  He  was  less  mono- 
polised by  Christian,  who  turned  for  sympathy 
elsewhere. 

Darboise's  stay  in  the  hospital  was  beginning 
to  exceed  the  anticipated  limit,  thanks  to  the 
kindness  of  the  head  surgeon. 

"You're  not  badly  off  here,  eh?"  Alquier  said. 

"Oh,  major!  And  compare  it  with  what's 
waiting  for  me!"  (Jean  had  reason  to  believe 
that  he  would  go  back  to  the  Guilleminot  Prison  to 
finish  his  fifteen  days.) 

There  were  several  other  visitors.  Vechaud 
came  twice.  The  poor  lad  continued  to  bewail 
his  quite  uninteresting  duties.  Jean,  whom  he 
irritated,  made  sport  of  him,  invoking  Christian's 
aid  to  demoralise  him  still  more  by  painting  the 
future  in  the  darkest  colours,  nor  was  there  much 
that  could  be  piled  on. 

Lavigne  presented  himself  one  fine  day  and 
Darboise  was  touched  by  the  overture.  But 

287 


288  A  Life  at  Stake 

they  had  to  rack  their  brains  to  find  a  subject 
of  conversation.  The  sergeant  mopped  his  fore- 
head and  repeated  that  it  was  thirsty  weather: 
"I'm  superintending  the  boys.  How  are  they? — 
In  summer,  you  know,  I've  got  to  drink  all  the 
time " 

Monade  and  Cazenave  took  advantage  of  a 
Sunday  at  last,  and  called:  "Ah,  now  one  may 
come  and  see  you!"  said  the  adjutant  as  he 
entered.  They  feared  to  commit  themselves 
while  the  "affair"  was  still  hanging  on. 

Jean  assumed  a  curious  coldness  towards  them, 
which  they  pretended  not  to  notice.  Cazenave 
even  displayed  "cheek."  As  they  threatened 
to  make  him  a  sentry,  he  said,  he  had  hungry 
eyes  on  some  secretarial  job  at  the  D.E.S. ;  and 
he,  Darboise,  who  had  backers  in  the  dockyard 
superintendent's  office  and  elsewhere,  couldn't  he, 
if  need  be ? 

"If  I  had  any,  I  should  keep  them  to  myself!" 

As  they  took  their  leave,  Monade  said  to  Jean, 
without  seeing  anything  unkind  in  it:  "We'll  try 
to  come  again,  old  chap,  before  you're  in  prison 
again!" 

The  only  one  who  regularly  put  himself  out  was 
Gandolphe.  He  used  to  come  at  the  right  time 
after  lunch,  and  bring  books  for  the  convalescent : 
"I'm  not  wearying  you?" 

A  natural  subject  of  conversation  was  the  works 
which  Darboise  had  been  able  to  run  through  the 
day  before — masterpieces  carefully  chosen  by  the 


Gandolphe  and  the  d'Estignards   289 

sergeant — Zola,  Tolstoy,  Daudet;  and  Gandolphe 
also  brought  Barbusse's  Le  Feu  to  his  notice. 
It  was  beginning  to  appear  in  L'CEuvre, — a  cry  of 
sincerity  and  genius,  welcomed  all  over  France 
with  immense  relief.  They  argued  about  things, 
but  Jean  did  not  show  any  animation.  Not 
that  he  had  any  contempt  for  his  visitor.  On 
the  contrary,  he  thought  him  intelligent  and 
well-read,  and  less  pedantic  than  he  had  usually 
believed  him. 

More  than  once,  the  sergeant  seemed  to  try 
hard  to  draw  him  into  political  matters.  Jean 
avoided  the  discussion,  convinced  that  the  bold- 
ness of  his  disillusionment  would  only  and  un- 
profitably  shock  this  upright  university  man. 
For  still  weightier  reasons,  Jean  hastened  to 
change  the  subject  when  the  sergeant  seemed  to  be 
clearing  a  way  for  personal  confidences.  He  had 
heard  but  lately  from  Cazenave  of  the  successive 
misfortunes  which  had  fallen  on  Gandolphe.  He 
had  become  a  widower  shortly  before  the  cata- 
clysm and  had  heard  that  his  children  had  died 
in  the  enemy -occupied  country.  Jean  was  careful 
not  to  start  him  on  that  subject,  fearing  both  a  too 
diffuse  discourse,  and  also  that  the  other  would 
gather  courage  to  question  him  in  his  turn. 

One   day  when  the   sergeant    was    there,  the 
d'Estignards    were    announced.     Jean    had    sent 
them  a  note  and  had  expected  them  for  several 
days. 
19 


A  Life  at  Stake 


It  was  the  whole  family.  Madame  d'Estignard 
went  up  to  Darboise  and  kissed  him  :  '  '  May  I  —  an 
old  mother?" 

Friendly  outpourings  followed.  They  talked  of 
the  pneumonia,  of  which  hardly  a  trace  seemed 
left.  Then  Jean  expressed  his  gratitude  —  yes, 
that  scrape  of  his,  he  knew  what  kindness  they 
had  shown. 

Monsieur  d'Estignard  declined  thanks  —  they 
were  due  chiefly  to  another,  and  he  turned  towards 
Gandolphe,  who  had  taken  his  cap  and  seemed 
on  the  point  of  going. 

Darboise  noticed  a  kind  of  familiarity  between 
his  cousins  and  the  sergeant,  and  felt  a  certain 
uneasiness  stirring  in  him.  How  far  had  the 
exchange  of  confidences  about  him  gone?  What 
allusions  to  Andree  had  passed  between  them? 
It  was  probable  that  they  were  all  on  the  scent, 
all.  It  was  already  significant  that  each  one  of 
them  abstained  from  even  mentioning  the  name 
of  his  wife!  Indeed,  was  it  not  possible  that  they 
on  their  side  had  been  exerting  themselves,  and 
had  written  to  Sceaux?  Looking  at  the  faces  of 
those  two  women,  whereon  he  read  encouraging 
kindness,  hope  burned  again  within  him.  If 
Andree  had  been  shocked  and  moved  to  pity?  If 
she  were  to  show  her  face  again,  or  if  only  a  note 
of  forgiveness  -  ? 

Gandolphe  did  not  linger,  and  when  he  had 
gone,  M.  d'Estignard  returned  to  his  praises: 
"You've  got  a  devoted  friend  there!" 


Gandolphe  and  the  d'Estignards   291 

"You  should  have  seen  him,"  said  Sylvaine, 
' '  the  evening  when  he  came  to  look  us  up  at  home ! 
What  a  state  he  was  in !  It  was  looking  hopeless 
for  you,  that  threat  of  the  court-martial.  He 
persuaded  papa  to  go  immediately  to  the  sur- 
geon  ' 

"Fortunately!  The  next  day  would  have  been 
too  late!" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Jean,  "he  has  a  good  heart." 

"A  professor,  isn't  he?     But  is  he  a  Fellow?" 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"It's  a  pity,"  said  the  old  lady,  "that  he's 
rather — how  shall  I  put  it?"  She  was  seeking 
words  with  no  unkindness  in  them:  "I  would  say 
'provincial'  if  we  were  not  provincials  ourselves!" 

"There's  nothing  of  the  flirt  about  him!"  said 
Sylvaine. 

"No — and  above  all,  nothing  up-to-date, 
nothing  fashionable." 

Darboise  took  it  on  himself  to  give  them  an 
insight  into  Gandolphe's  domestic  disasters,  but 
cut  it  short  at  sight  of  their  inattentive  expression. 

However,  towards  the  end  of  the  week,  chance 
brought  the  sergeant  and  the  d'Estignards  again 
at  the  same  time;  and  that  day,  the  young  lady 
having  casually  mentioned  her  singing,  which 
she  was  studying  again,  Gandolphe  ventured  to 
ask  her:  "Really?  You  are  a  musician,  made- 
moiselle?" 

Jean  pushed  him  forward,  figuratively,  telling 
that  the  sergeant  was  an  artist  as  well,  and  the 


292  A  Life  at  Stake 

delight  of  his  mess.  Gandolphe  denied  being  a 
virtuoso,  but  confessed  that  he  wondered  what 
would  have  become  of  him,  without  his  piano,  in 
the  dark  hours  of  his  life. 

"I,  too,"  said  Sylvaine;  "there  are  people  who 
think  that  mirth  and  music 

They  talked  a  little  on  the  subject  that  was 
drawing  them  together,  and  sang  the  praises  of 
their  favourite  composers.  M.  d'Estignard  said 
to  Gandolphe:  "  You  must  come  and  see  us  some 
day.  You  shall  accompany  my  daughter's  songs. ' ' 

"Oh,"  said  the  old  lady,  "but  Sylvaine  is  only 
pleased  when  she's  in  difficulties. " 

One  felt  her  slightly  ungracious  caution  in  the 
matter  of  this  non-com. 's  musical  culture.  And 
he  stood  silently  and  modestly,  as  though  entreat- 
ing the  one  most  interested  for  a  word  of  encourage- 
ment. The  young  girl  seemed  to  have  fallen  in- 
to one  of  her  unaccountable  moments  of  abstrac- 
tion. 

"That's  so,  eh,  Sylvaine?"  her  father  went  on. 

"Why,  yes — certainly!"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   DECISION 

FAUVEL  had  come  to  pay  him — what?  Yes, 
a  friendly  call !  And  to  inform  Jean  that,  thanks 
to  his  personal  intervention,  even  the  fifteen  days 
of  prison  had  been  remitted. 

Jean  knew  that  he  owed  this  last  remission  to 
Alquier,  and  was  tempted  to  tell  the  hypocrite 
that  he  knew  all  he  wanted  to  know  on  his  account ; 
but  he  restrained  himself,  knowing  he  must  soon 
be  again  in  the  lieutenant's  power,  alas! 

Ah,  the  protecting  tone  in  which  Fauvel  gave 
him  advice!  "What  we've  found  amiss  in  you, 
you  know,  is  your  lack  of  the  military  spirit.  An 
artist  in  civil  life,  that's  all  right;  but  here,  nothing 
but  a  'second  class,'  eh?" 

Fauvel  seemed  to  take  a  delight  in  letting  dis- 
agreeable news  trickle  slowly  out : 

"As  you've  been  ill,  your  turn  for  leave  will  be 
put  back,  of  course.  And  then — yes,  there  are 
new  orders — the  young  men  will  no  longer  be 
allowed  to  sleep  away  from  quarters." 

"Brute!     Brute!"  exclaimed  Darboise,  almost 
before  the  door  was  shut. 
293 


294  A  Life  at  Stake 

The  last  piece  of  news  was  like  a  hammer-blow 
to  him.  No  more  sleeping  in  town?  That  was 
really  the  same  thing  as  having  to  give  up  his 
room.  There  would  no  longer  be  a  corner  where 
he  could  recover  after  a  day  of  serfdom;  and 
instead  there  would  be  the  promiscuity  of  the 
barrack-room.  Until  the  next  day  he  tried  to 
think  it  was  all  an  invention  of  Fauvel's;  but 
Monade  came  to  see  him  again  and  confirmed  the 
news ;  and  the  idiot  added  with  a  laugh :  "  It  will 
be  Madame  Darboise  that  grumbles,  if  she  comes 
back!" 

Jean  asked  him  questions.  What  were  the  de- 
tachment saying  and  doing? 

Well,  after  a  fortnight  of  total  idleness — yes, 
they  had  let  the  four  hundred  men  fold  their 
arms;  and  most  of  them  were  agriculturists  who 
fretted  their  hearts  out  to  be  doing  nothing  when 
so  much  wanted  doing  at  home! — orders  had 
arrived  the  day  before,  at  last. 

"Are  they  returning  to  the  Textile? " 

"Yes,  all  the  company;  and  that  means,  talking 
about  days  off, — napoo!" 

The  adjutant  gave  details  of  a  hardly  reassuring 
nature.  The — the  squad  was  in  evil  odour  at 
present — perhaps  on  account  of  the  Darboise 
affair — ah,  that  might  very  well  be!  The  dirtiest 
fatigues  were  for  them,  and  their  non-coms,  were 
obliged  not  to  move  a  yard  away  from  their  men. 
The  other  night,  at  the  "booze  fatigue,"  some 
chaps  were  drunk,  and  there  was  a  row  and  a 


A  Decision  295 

report,  threats  and  lock-up,  and  now  a  rebellious 
spirit  was  stirring. 

These  remarks  cast  gloom  on  Jean's  mind. 
Only  a  few  days  now  separated  him  from  his  return 
to  St.  Pol,  to  wear  the  yoke  of  drudgery  again. 
He  would  be  returning  to  companions  whose 
only  welcome  would  be  derision  and  ill-will.  He 
would  begin  to  live  again  under  the  rod  of  non- 
coms,  in  that  stench  of  militarism,  the  Textile! 
Depussay  and  Dubus!  To  think  that  kindly 
folk  had  exerted  themselves  to  save  him  from  the 
court-martial!  Really,  compared  with  what  lay 
in  wait  for  him,  would  he  not  have  preferred 
imprisonment? 

His  surroundings  in  the  ward,  too,  were  changed 
again.  There  were  several  newcomers  of  an 
unsympathetic  sort;  cases  of  serious  illness,  of 
whom  little  Navarro  was  one,  coughing  his  lungs 
up. 

Christian  had  just  had  a  mishap — Alquier  had 
found  a  litre  of  rum  under  his  pillow;  and  at  the 
end  of  a  very  violent  scene,  the  major  had  decided 
to  send  him  away  in  a  few  days:  "Armed  service 
you  are — so  much  for  you!  You're  all  right 
for  the  trenches!" 

Indignantly  intrenched  in  his  corner,  the 
fellow  invoked  the  opinion  of  Jean,  who  was 
inclined  to  tax  the  surgeon  with  going  to  extremes. 
Then  Christian  changed  his  tune,  protested  his 
horror  of  the  firing  line,  his  dread  of  returning 
yonder,  his  detestation  of  the  war.  He  preached 


296  A  Life  at  Stake 

open  rebellion — bullets  in  the  bodies  of  the  bosses, 
as  they  used  to  say  in  the  good  old  days!  Any 
means  at  all  to  bring  this  beastliness  to  an  end  as 
soon  as  possible! 

Jean  nodded  his  head,  and  had  not  the  strength 
to  refute  him.  It  was  true  that  the  war  was  the 
cause  of  universal  misfortune  and  disgrace — the 
war  that  seemed  to  informed  minds  to  be  less  near 
its  end,  after  twenty-four  months,  than  it  did 
at  the  beginning ! 

Gandolphe's  visits,  which  had  become  rather 
less  frequent,  no  longer  brought  him  more  than  a 
feeling  of  impatience.  He  was  relieved  to  see  him 
go,  and  had  less  liking  for  reading.  One  tedious 
morning  he  had  taken  a  pencil  and  sketched  the 
portrait  of  Christian,  whose  spiteful  mobile  face 
interested  him.  It  was  an  abortive  attempt,  and 
the  other  poked  fun  at  him. 

How  many  cares  he  had !  The  money  problem 
began  to  take  urgent  shape.  There  was  no  further 
reply  from  the  Credit  Lyonnais,  which  had  recently 
advised  him  of  difficulties  which  prevented  his 
last  order  to  sell  stock  from  being  executed.  He 
had  thirty  francs  left  in  his  pocket;  a  month's 
board  and  lodging  was  due  to  the  Mafrancs,  and 
the  rent  of  the  room  in  the  Rue  Jeanne  d'Arc 
was  still  going  on !  The  memory  of  his  disputes 
with  the  Trousseliers  arose  again  to  engross  his 
thoughts,  as  from  the  depths  of  a  nightmare.  He 
knew  nothing  more  of  the  two  women.  It  was  to 
be  hoped  that  the  old  one  had  given  up  her  idea 


A  Decision  297 

of  making  a  complaint,  and  the  young  one  her 
plans  to  do  away  with  herself  and  the  babies. 
And  when  the  husband  returned,  how  the  spiteful 
tongues  would  tell  him  all  about  it ! 

Darboise  could  not  hide  from  himself  that  his 
physical  strength  was  shaken.  There  was  more 
of  the  light  perspiration  by  night.  He  felt  his 
pulse  at  night, — and  would  have  asked  for  the 
thermometer  had  he  not  feared  that  Christian 
would  poke  fun  at  him — 88,  90  to  the  minute! 
It  was  too  high,  undoubtedly,  a  feverish  speed. 
Perhaps  he  was  tuberculous  in  his  bones.  The 
military  surgeons,  of  course,  will  only  pronounce 
you  attacked  when  you  are  at  the  last  gasp,  as 
they  did  for  poor  little  Navarro,  whose  red  cheek- 
bones, emaciation,  and  incessant  cough  seemed 
to  Jean  a  clinical  picture  of  what  awaited  him 
tomorrow. 

Above  all — and  this  was  the  darkest  depth  of 
his  distress — days  and  weeks  had  gone  by  and 
Andree  had  not  written.  Adamant  in  her  accursed 
severity!  And  this  the  last  beacon-light  on  the 
horizon  was  dying  out. 


He  would  be  leaving  the  hospital  in  a  minute. 
His  bundle  was  made  up  and  he  was  only  waiting 
for  his  "paper. "  He  had  picked  up  a  newspaper 
and  was  looking  carelessly  through  it. 

As  soon  as  he  had  read  the  heading  "Roll  of 
Honour,  "  the  printed  words  began  to  dance  before 


298  A  Life  at  Stake 

his  eyes,  and  it  was  difficult  to  read  them  again. 
He  felt  that  atrocious  heart-pang  that  he  knew  too 
well,  and  leaned  against  the  wall. 

"What's  up?"  said  Christian;  "do  you  feel 
bad?" 

' '  The  last — of  my  best  pals ! ' ' 

"We  shall  all  go  that  way,  I  tell  you!" 

The  line  in  the  list  read:  "Paul  Augueres,  son  of 
Professor  Augueres  of  the  College  of  Physicians, 
killed  in  action  on  the  Somme,  aged  24  years." 

"He,  he  too!"  Jean  murmured  to  himself  for 
a  dozen  seconds,  and  then:  "It  had  to  be!  I 
expected  it!" 

It  was  a  loss  which  yielded  to  none  in  sadness. 
Yet  it  was  strange  that  the  blow  found  him  less 
a  prey  to  overpowering  sorrow  than  to  a  kind  of 
triumphant  horror.  He  repeated :  "  I  was  expect- 
ing it!" 

Almost  coldly  he  witnessed  the  unrolling  of  the 
kindred  pictures  that  always  thronged  before  his 
eyes  as  each  new  bereavement  was  announced: 
the  last  sight  of  the  departed  one,  the  last  letter 
received  from  him,  his  signature,  the  final  flourish 
to  it.  And  mechanically,  as  always,  a  procession 
of  ghosts  began  to  file  across  the  background  of  his 
consciousness.  Two  years  had  gone  by  since  the 
first  ones  were  killed — Boussacat  Spincourt,  de  Val- 
pic  at  Roye.  Lucien  his  boy-brother,  moulded  in 
the  same  flesh  as  himself,  died  in  hospital,  and  was 
followed  in  a  fortnight  by  their  mother.  The  shapes 
of  those  who  had  disappeared  proceeded  more 


A  Decision  299 

rapidly — friends,  comrades,  chiefs,  they  who  were 
neither  friends  nor  enemies,  those  of  Nanteuil,  of 
La  Chalade,  of  Douaumont,  companions  of  a 
month  or  of  an  hour,  down  to  the  most  recent — 
Templier,  Fainze,  Claude  Boucheron.  He  had 
not  the  time  to  be  engulfed  in  individual  regrets — 
—his  feeling  was  one  of  stupor  and  almost  of  utter 
prostration.  His  capacity  for  feeling  pain  was 
like  a  machine  that  has  locked.  Then  suddenly 
his  heart  contracted.  He  felt  that  fate  was  pre- 
senting to  him  a  demand  for  payment.  Before 
he  could  control  the  springs  of  his  thought,  he 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  decision  arrived 
at  in  the  depths  of  his  subconsciousness ;  he  would 
struggle  no  more!  It  was  only  some  minutes 
later,  when  he  had  become  used  to  the  dazzling  idea 
and  his  vision  was  steadying,  that  he  justified  his 
resolution  after  it  was  made.  Nothing,  nothing 
in  the  world  should  turn  him  from  it. 

There  was  no  deep  philosophy  in  it ;  but  merely 
the  conviction  that  life  was  no  longer  to  be  wished 
for  in  this  abominable  epoch.  Why  go  on?  All 
the  delights  of  reason,  liberty,  and  art,  for  which 
men  worthy  of  the  name  had  expended  themselves, 
were  suppressed.  In  himself  he  saw  a  greater 
victim  than  most — physically  reduced,  morally 
debased,  his  trust  and  hope  in  humanity  lost, 
gone  even  the  desire  to  raise  himself  again,  seek- 
ing only  the  speediest  deliverance  in  this  his  last 
extremity !  With  cruel  detachment  he  thought  of 
Andree  and  the  child.  Was  it  cowardice  to  leave 


300  A  Life  at  Stake 

them?  But  it  was  her  own  choice.  Besides, 
what  else  did  he  do  but  antedate  things  by  a  few 
months?  His  lungs  were  attacked,  and  he  was 
condemned.  A  little  sooner,  or  a  little  later! 
Since  it  was  now  only  a  question  of  dying,  why 
had  he  not  fallen  at  Verdun  ? 

Gradually  he  advanced  to  a  wider  and  more 
rational  view  of  his  plan,  a  more  balanced  con- 
ception of  the  truth,  which  is  the  only  logic.  Why 
was  he  only  adopting  it  so  late?  Were  not  all  his 
troubles  there  yesterday?  Yes,  of  course;  but 
this  death  of  Augueres,  of  his  last  friend  in  the 
world,  that  was  the  last  drop  which  made  the  cup 
overflow.  For  the  essential  sorrow  was  death — 
yes,  death  mowing  down  at  random  the  best  of 
the  nations,  this  was  the  incurable  abomination 
which  made  the  air  unfit  to  breathe.  A  wind  of 
madness  was  blowing  through  the  world.  One 
had  reached  the  negation  of  all  progress,  of  all 
civilisation.  One  by  one,  all  those  he  loved  had 
been  cut  down.  There  was  nothing  left  but  to 
imitate  them,  to  let  himself  fall  in  his  turn,  rather 
than  surfer  endlessly  in  this  scene  of  barbarism 
among  ever-increasing  horrors!  The  times  were 
accursed.  The  only  path  open  henceforward 
before  young  men  ran  from  the  convict-prison  to 
the  hospital  and  the  charnel-house;  for  amid  the 
total  rout  of  justice  and  beauty,  Old  Europe  was 
rolling  to  its  end,  drunk  with  blood  and  tears ! 

Darboise  had  prodigiously  regained  control  of 
himself.  He  made  mental  survey  of  the  change 


A  Decision  301 

accomplished  in  him  within  a  few  weeks.  Suppose 
he  had  escaped  Gandolphe's  tripping  foot  that 
night  and  had  thrown  himself  into  the  oily  water 
of  the  dock,  it  would  have  been  an  act  of  rash 
passion,  with  no  calculation  in  it;  whereas  this 
time  he  would  be  acting  as  a  man  who  had  pon- 
dered— a  wise  man — the  only  wise  man!  And 
as  his  eyes  wandered  over  those  around  him,  it 
amused  him  to  think  of  their  insensibility.  They 
held  fast  to  life,  great  God ! — those  wounded  men, 
those  enfeebled  creatures,  those  emaciated  "aux- 
iliaries"! And  to  what  a  life  they  clung — the 
miserable  men !  He  recalled  the  awful  prophecies 
of  Decante.  They  who  should  see  the  after-war 
time — if  ever  there  was  an  after-war — ah,  the  new 
outbreak  of  misfortunes,  the  fierce  social  convul- 
sions in  which  the  bruised  and  decimated  nations 
would  at  last  find  the  death-agony!  And  these 
men  wanted  to  live  for  that ! 

The  nun  appeared  again,  with  the  leaving-card : 
"No  ill-will,  eh,  bad  boy!  You  must  come  and 
see  us  again!" 

He  thanked  her  for  her  kindly  care,  and  made 
the  round  of  the  ward,  shaking  hands.  Christian's 
farewell  was  brief.  Was  it  worth  while  to  wish 
each  other  anything? 

He  got  into  a  tram  for  St.  Pol,  and  there,  with 
his  elbow  on  the  window  ledge,  he  wondered  tran- 
quilly— when  ?  And  how  ? 

It  was  a  satisfaction  to  him  to  notice  how, 
unperceived,  that  matter  also  had  decided  itself 


302  A  Life  at  Stake 

in  his  mind.  This  evening,  tonight,  would  be 
the  best.  And  for  the  method — the  canal? 
No;  he  was  a  good  swimmer,  and  would  struggle. 
Throw  himself  under  a  tram  or  a  train?  An 
unclean  death!  A  rifle-bullet  in  the  head?  Too 
many  chances  of  missing ! 

But  he  could  quite  clearly  see  himself  leaning 
out  of  a  high  window — the  school  had  three 
storeys — and  then — dropping  to  the  paved  yard 
below.  A  matter  of  a  second!  Very  good — he 
need  not  hark  back  to  that  subject. 

He  got  out  at  the  Mardyck  Gate.  The  whim 
took  him  to  make  a  detour  by  the  dunes  before 
going  in.  He  almost  regretted — though  what  did 
it  really  matter? — that  for  this  last  stroll,  there 
was  a  pale  and  sunless  sky. 

Sergeant  Gandolphe  was  bringing  Dauphin  who 
had  had  a  fainting  fit,  away  from  the  Port,  and 
Jean  could  see  no  way  of  avoiding  him. 

"You  don't  look  very  merry!" 

"Oh,  yes!     I'm  merry  enough!" 
v  "Tomorrow,  you  know,  you  need  not  join  the 
fatigue  party : 

"On  what  ground?" 

"Because;  as  you're  coming  out  of  hospital, 
you'll  have  to  go  to  inspection." 

Jean  thought  to  himself :  ' '  Tomorrow  ?  If  you 
knew  that  tomorrow !" 

"Are  you  going  back  to  St.  Pol  now?"  Gan- 
dolphe asked. 

"Not  immediately. " 


A  Decision  3°3 

The  other  seemed  to  hesitate:  "Because  I 
wanted — to  ask  your  opinion 

"On  what?"  " 

' '  I  was  thinking  of  going  to  Malo — your  cousins 
—they've  been  so  kind.  I'm  free  tomorrow. 
So  won't  you — for  my  first — formal  call ' 

He  was  speaking  with  difficulty:  "Couldn't  you 
— go  with  me?" 

' '  Go  with  you  ?     Well, ' ' 

With  dull  eyes  Jean  was  looking  into  himself, 
and  a  voice  cried  to  him,  "Too  late!" 

"It's  very  annoying,"  he  said,  "but ' 

The  sergeant  had  blushed.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  on  Darboise  in  fervent  enquiry,  as  on  Syl- 
vaine  the  other  day,  and  Jean  was  struck  by  the 
offer  of  friendship. 

"I  proposed  tomorrow,"  Gandolphe  went  on, 
"because  afterwards — afterwards — before  we  find 
ourselves  with  a  day  off  together 

Suddenly  and  with  greater  energy,  he  said: 
"Then  you  haven't  anything  to  prevent  you?  I 
can  count  on  you?" 

Jean  felt  himself  pierced  by  the  warm  and 
straightforward  gaze  of  the  other,  and  his  decision 
trembled  in  the  balance.  This  was  the  only  man 
for  a  long  time  who  had  shown  him  friendship. 

He  hesitated.  It  cost  him  dearly,  infinitely,  to 
delay — if  only  for  twenty-four  hours.  For  since 
he  had  fixed  the  time  and  conditions  of  the  decisive 
deed,  he  had  rejoiced  to  find  his  mind  disembar- 
rassed and  peaceful,  his  lot  already  lightened. 


304  A  Life  at  Stake 

Yet,  from  the  depth  of  his  tormented  soul,  a 
sweet-scented  mist  arose,  as  from  a  flower  in  the 
ruined  garden  of  his  generous  illusions.  Should 
he  pay  homage  to  this  last  gleam  of  kindness  that 
had  appeared? 

Gandolphe's  gaze  was  dumbly  beseeching  him. 
Jean  guessed  what  feelings  might  be  hiding  behind 
that  importunateness 

"Well,  right  you  are!"  he  said.  "Meet  you  at 
three  o'clock  tomorrow ! ' ' 


PART   III 


305 


BOOK  VIII 
CHAPTER  I 

THE    DAWNING  OF  A   NEW   DAY 

STARS  were  shining  in  a  clear  sky,  and  a  breeze 
was  caressing  the  world.  Having  imbibed  his 
cup  of  "juice,"  Jean  emerged  from  the  quarters 
and  turned  towards  the  east,  where  a  luminous 
streak  already  heralded  the  next  dawn,  and  it  sur- 
prised him  to  think  of  it  as  a  dawn  that  he  should 
not  have  seen ! 

The  whole  of  the  day  before  he  had  spent  in 
a  sort  of  somnambulist  unconsciousness.  At  the 
d'Estignards  at  Malo,  whither  he  had  gone  with 
Gandolphe,  he  had  lost  himself  in  a  silent  and 
distant  background  which  had  brought  down  on 
him  the  old  lady's  affectionate  rebuke.  In  the 
evening  he  had  not  left  the  school;  not  that  the 
execution  of  his  fatal  design  was  imminent,  but 
because  he  was  a  slave  to  the  decision  arrived  at 
outside  his  own  consciousness,  which  fixed  the 
liberating  act  at  the  striking  of  four  o'clock  in  the 
early  morning. 

Darboise  was  sitting  in  meditation  on  his  bed 
in  the  barrack  dormitory  when,  a  few  minutes 

307 


308  A  Life  at  Stake 

after  the  evening  tattoo,  Gandolphe  arrived  like  a 
thunderclap : 

"Hey,  Darboise!     I'm  taking  you  tomorrow!" 

"Where's  that?" 

"  Firing  -  ground  —  new  fatigue  --  they've  just 
given  me  instructions." 

A  battalion  of  Zouaves  had  arrived  at  St.  Pol 
in  the  afternoon,  come  for  practice  in  the  machine- 
gun  and  the  37mm.  The  depot  had  to  be  respon- 
sible for  guarding  the  firing-ground. 

"We  start  at  a  quarter  to  four,"  Gandolphe 
went  on;  "hurry  up  and  go  to  sleep!" 

Certainly  it  rested  only  with  Jean  to  advance  the 
deadly  moment.  But  superstition  disposed  him 
to  respect  the  adopted  decision  in  detail. 

What  a  night !  Jean  was  forced  to  undress  and 
get  into  bed  to  avoid  the  suspicious  banter  of  his 
neighbours.  Stretched  on  the  hard  mattress,  he 
remained  for  a  long  time  open-eyed,  reviewing  the 
life  whose  curve  had  begun  fatally  to  decline  a 
few  months  before. 

He  ended  by  losing  consciousness.  Waking  up, 
he  looked  furtively  at  his  watch — ten  minutes  to 
four !  It  was  still  dark.  Getting  up  quietly  and 
carefully,  he  dressed  himself  in  a  few  minutes, 
went  tiptoe  out  into  the  corridor  and  mounted 
the  stairs  in  complete  resolution.  He  had  marked 
down  overnight  the  third-floor  window  from 
which  he  would  cast  himself. 

A  voice  hailed  him:  "Hey,  Darboise!" 

Some  one  was  running  up  behind,  and  overtook 


The  Dawning  of  a  New  Day   309 

him.    It  was  Gandolphe — always  he ! — who  tapped 
his  shoulder:  "Bravo,  my  boy — in  time!" 

' '  I  was  going  to  the  Bureau ' 

"Shut!  Better  come  and  waken  Buscail. " 
The  sergeant  did  not  leave  him  again.  They 
went  and  knocked  on  the  door  of  the  mess-corporal, 
who  kept  them  a  moment.  Going  down  again, 
they  came  on  Pincivy,  already  in  uniform.  The 
slender  Poitou,  beardless  as  a  girl,  was  laughing 
in  solitude  as  he  lathered  himself  vigorously  under 
the  pump.  The  others  were  getting  ready. 
There  was  no  help  for  it — the  chance  was  gone. 
The  sergeant  ran  his  eye  over  the  men  mustered 
on  the  pavement:  "All  nine  here — my  picked 
company?" 

Eight  for  sentry  duty,  plus  the  bugler — Pouillot, 
of  the  lively  face.  A  careful  choice,  obviously. 
All  were  young  men  with  the  exception  of  Papa 
Pincivy,  an  old  R.  A.  T. '  with  a  grey  beard,  a 
first  class  soldier  chosen  by  Gandolphe  to  be  his 
second.  There  were  also  Yvonnet,  Poitou,  big 
Brossard  (a  fine  fellow),  Couvret  of  the  comical 
ugliness,  Mortas,  and  fearless  Dubar.  Jean's 
only  surprise  was  to  see  Gautier  Charles  as  well, 
looking  more  dissolute  than  ever,  and  almost  a 
foreigner  in  this  company. 

"En  route!"  They  crossed  the  town,  still 
sleeping  in  the  early  day.  Just  when  the  leaders 
were  entering  the  Avenue  de  la  Mer,  "Take 
that  way"  said  Gandolphe,  and  they  turned 

1  Rdserviste  de  I'Armge  Territoriale. — TR. 


310  A  Life  at  Stake 

into  a  foot-path  that  wound  its  way  between 
two  banks. 

The  sun  had  just  risen,  and  was  shining  right 
in  the  line  of  their  march,  level  with  that  green 
plain  where  nothing  caught  the  eye.  It  rose 
quickly,  and  they  laughed  as  their  gigantic  sha- 
dows were  thrown  across  the  barefaced  stubble- 
fields. 

The  translucent  air  seemed  to  bathe  one  in 
throbbing  buoyancy.  Against  his  expectation, 
Jean  had  no  difficulty  in  keeping  up  the  rapid 
pace.  He  watched  his  companions.  They  were 
all  men  of  the  country  by  origin,  down  to  Dubar 
the  miner,  but  for  long  quartered  among  the 
thankless  tasks  of  towns ;  and  it  amused  him  to  see 
how  uplifted  they  were  to  find  themselves  again  in 
touch  with  Mother  Earth.  They  scampered  like 
children  to  climb  the  hillocks  which  bordered  the 
path.  Blanchard  was  picking  up  pebbles  and 
making  wonderful  shots  with  them.  Facetiously, 
Mortas  brought  him  a  lump  of  earth,  and  all 
laughed  at  him  when  it  collapsed  in  his  fingers. 
They  both  jumped  over  a  ditch  and  chased  each 
other  like  young  goats. 

As  they  neared  a  big  farm,  they  passed  by  an 
enclosure  of  cattle.  The  bright-coated  beasts 
got  up  as  the  little  company  went  by,  or  turned 
upon  them  those  eyes  where  infinity  dreams. 
Our  experts  criticised  the  shoulders  and  necks 
appreciatively.  A  young  calf  trotted  up  to  the 
fence  and  uttered  a  weak  bellow:  "Hey,  Mortas! 


The  Dawning  of  a  New  Day 

Listen  to  your  cousin,  saying  good-morning  to 
you!"  said  Brossard. 

They  went  on  into  a  plain  where  squares  of  beet 
alternated  with  harvested  fields.  Stacks,  long  dis- 
tances apart,  made  a  great  display.  A  fresh  sweet 
smell  was  spreading  abroad  out  of  the  repose  of 
the  vanished  night.  They  met  groups  of  women, 
haymaking:  "Hard  at  work  already,  ladies?" 
They  had  sunburnt  faces,  shaded  by  handker- 
chiefs; one  or  two  were  pretty,  with  shining  eyes, 
and  the  rest  were  old  women,  wrinkled  like  pippins ; 
they  all  smiled  at  the  soldiers. 

"Fine  day,  eh? "  said  the  sergeant,  coming  up  to 
Jean,  "almost  one  of  your  Southern  days!" 

Jean  looked  up,  as  if  anxious  to  find  the  least 
speck  of  cloud.  The  full  light  of  summer  blazed 
over  the  splendid  sky. 

"Almost,  "  he  had  to  admit. 

They  went  round  a  field  of  corn,  not  yet  laid 
low,  and  the  leaders  automatically  picked  ears 
and  put  the  grains  to  their  lips.  Jean  gathered  a 
poppy,  and  was  tempted  to  decorate  his  cap  with 
the  scarlet,  wanton  petals. 

At  last  Gandolphe  halted  them  opposite  a  little 
house:  "I  know  the  good  woman.  " 

He  went  in  and  talked  for  a  minute.  The  bar- 
gain was  concluded,  and  the  tavern-keeper  came 
out:  "  What?  As  if  I  want  any  of  you,  my  lad!" 

She  undertook  the  "mess,"  and  they  handed 
over  the  meat  and  potatoes — all  they  had  brought 
with  them. 


A  Life  at  Stake 

"What  time  will  the  little  feed  be  ready?" 
They  agreed  to  meet  there  again,  towards  noon. 

Pincivy,  with  two  assistants,  was  detached  for 
the  huts,  whence  they  brought  back  the  little 
flags.  The  bugler  went  away  to  Post  4,  from 
which  he  would  blow  the  calls.  Gandolphe, 
having  placed  sentries  I  and  2,  allotted  Jean  to 
Post  3,  the  nearest  one  to  the  point  of  re-assembly. 

"Are  you  tired,  Darboise?"  he  asked. 

"No,  sergeant?" 

"Will  you  come  with  me  while  I  place  the 
others?" 

"Willingly." 

The  posts  were  arranged  along  the  shore,  and 
the  spaces  between  the  last  reached  almost  a 
kilometre.  Darboise  regretted  having  under- 
taken such  a  distance.  In  vain  the  sergeant 
thought  to  interest  him  by  pointing  out  the 
earthworks,  bastions,  and  redoubts  that  they 
passed,  and  the  enormous  pot-bellied  guns  that 
looked  like  alligators. 

Returned  to  his  flag,  Jean  only  signified  a  desire 
to  sit  down. 

"That's  it,"  said  Gandolphe,  "but  let's  find  a 
spot  where  there's  a  view. " 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    LEAVEN  OF   STRENGTH 

THEY  went  fifty  strides  away  to  a  spot  where  a 
slight  rise  attracted  them,  where  a  few  whins  had 
grown,  and  tufted  teasels. 

"Here,  look;  don't  you  think  this  will  do?" 
They  let  themselves  sink  to  the  ground. 

"A  cigarette?" 

Jean  accepted  the  invitation,  and  for  some 
minutes  he  enjoyed  the  sensation  of  rest. 

When  he  had  been  silent  awhile,  the  sergeant 
said : ' '  The  sea  and  the  sky,  I  say ! " 

The  remark  did  not  seem  at  all  intended  to 
draw  a  reply.  Gandolphe's  eyes  were  wandering 
over  the  vast  prospect. 

The  sea  and  the  sky,  indeed!  For  one's  atten- 
tion in  no  way  halted  on  the  golden  shore,  but 
went  on  and  on  into  infinity. 

The  sea!  The  tide  was  flowing.  A  hundred 
feet  away  from  them,  the  splashing  wavelets  were 
sporting  with  the  little  flotsam  of  an  ill-fated 
cargo — apples  in  thousands,  the  end  of  whose 
caperings  was  lost  in  distance.  Out  at  sea,  the 
vast  expanse  had  chequered  itself  with  three  paths 

313 


3H  A  Life  at  Stake 

of  vivid  green,  and  the  farthest  of  them  melted 
insensibly  into  a  golden  and  transparent  horizon. 

The  sky !  Already  it  was  no  longer  the  unsul- 
lied vault  of  just  now.  It  had  suddenly  enamelled 
itself  with  myriads  of  light  mists,  all  lighted  on 
the  same  border — a  sowing,  one  might  say,  of 
mother-of-pearl  shells.  The  view  changed  its 
aspect  again.  Moving  more  quickly,  the  little 
clouds  reminded  one  of  a  display  of  glistening 
fishes;  and  then,  once  more  distended  in  a  hidden 
unfurling,  they  resembled  the  silvern  undulations 
of  the  sand  when  the  wave  has  ebbed. 

Darboise  looked  to  the  right,  in  the  direction  of 
Dunkerque,  and  there  a  whitish  fog  had  gathered. 
But  the  sun  was  flaming  now  and  drawing  in  the 
flaky  softness,  so  that  the  upper  layers  disappeared 
rapidly.  Soon  there  rose  out  of  it  the  pale  sharp 
outline  of  the  lighthouse,  straight  as  an  obelisk. 
Then,  under  the  effect  of  some  breath  of  wind, 
the  misty  curtain  tore  itself  suddenly  apart, 
and  noble  apparitions  appeared  which  Jean 
could  not  at  first  identify.  Ah,  the  Hotel  de  Ville 
and  the  Tower!  Their  emerging  roofs  and  sum- 
mits had  no  contact  with  the  ground,  so  that  they 
appeared  like  legendary  monuments,  like  palaces 
in  fairy-tales. 

Jean  was  breathing  deeply.  Just  then,  Gan- 
dolphe  leaned  towards  him,  and  seemed  to  offer  him 
the  huge  panorama  in  an  inclusive  gesture. 
Gently,  he  completed  his  idea:  "Isn't  that  some 
consolation  for  everything?" 


The  Leaven  of  Strength       315 

The  bugler  blew  his  preliminary  warning. 

"The  firing's  going  to  begin, "  said  the  sergeant. 
"To  our  posts!" 

They  regained  the  place  assigned  to  Jean: 
"Don't  forget  your  instructions!"  These  were 
very  simple — he  must  forbid  approach  to  the 
dangerous  zone  as  long  as  the  firing  lasted. 

Gandolphe  went  away  on  his  rounds.  Darboise 
remained  standing  by  his  flag,  with  his  back 
turned  to  the  shore  now.  His  eyes  wandered 
over  the  plain,  where,  a  few  kilometres  away,  the 
houses  of  Mardyck  scattered  their  chaplet  of 
shining  panes. 

He  was  roused  from  his  reverie  by  a  hardly 
perceptible  booming  noise.  That  was  not  the 
guns  on  the  Yser?  Or  those  on  the  Somme? 
He  had  heard  it  said  that  the  sonorous  sound- 
waves reached  fifty  leagues  on  certain  days.  The 
Somme,  Bouchavesnes,  Barleux !  How  many  men 
were  being  struck  down  at  that  moment?  It 
needed  no  more  to  lead  him  back  again  into 
gloomy  thoughts. 

The  sergeant  reappeared,  and  sat  down  beside 
him:  "That  animal  of  a  Gautier!"  he  said;  "he'd 
gone  peacefully  to  sleep.  I've  just  shaken  him 
well,  and  I've  promised  him  something  if  he 
off  ends  again." 

"A  funny  chap,"  said  Jean,  carelessly;  "not 
very  interesting,  I  should  say!" 

"You  see,  I'd  got  the  impression  that  one 
might  be  able  to  do  something  with  him. " 


3i 6  A  Life  at  Stake 

Jean's  look  was  still  sceptical. 

"Yes, "  said  Gandolphe;  "I've  got  some  inform- 
ation about  him.  He's  been  wounded,  and  he's 
made  bad  acquaintances.  I  think  he's  merely  a 
man  discouraged." 

"Yes,  like  so  many  others,"  Jean  murmured. 

' '  Like  too  many  others ! ' ' 

Darboise  coughed:  "How  can  they  not  be — 
with  what  one  sees  and  puts  up  with !  Why, 

A  .puff  of  wind  brought  them  distinctly  the 
growling  of  the  guns  two  hundred  kilometres 
away. 

"As  often  as  one  hears  that  noise !" 

As  his  companion  was  satisfied  to  nod  his 
head,  "Sergeant,"  he  went  on,  "answer  me. 
Don't  we  live  in  abominable  times?" 

"Abominable!"  the  other  suddenly  affirmed, 
with  a  deep  violence  that  made  Jean  himself  start. 

Gandolphe  seized  him  by  the  wrist:  "When  I 
watch  you,  you  and  others — when  I  think  of  all 
you  suffer,  physically  and  morally,  through  our 
fault,  the  fault  of  us  your  elders  who  have  brought 
you  there — if  you  knew  my  state  of  mind  and 
the  remorse  that  overwhelms  me  in  the  sight  of 
you  all,  my  brothers  in  peril " 

"In  peril?" 

' '  Yes.  Some,  that  of  the  machine-gun.  Others, 
of  whom  you're  one,  the  peril  of  surrendering 
yourselves,  of  ceasing  to  believe — in  the  Good,  in 
life,  in  yourselves!  What  a  convulsion  is  passing 
through  humanity!" 


The  Leaven  of  Strength 

The  sergeant  changed  his  tone:  "And  our  duty, 
as  I  see  it,  should  be  to  try  to  restore  to  you  a 
little  of — your  belief,  your  trust,  to  give  you 
back  the  reasons  why  you  should  not  give  way 
under  the  burden.  For  there  are  reasons!" 

"What  are  they?" 

Darboise  looked  at  him  with  a  thrilled  and 
feverish  look,  with  something  of  hope  filling  him, 
yet  already  regretting  a  hope  that  must  be  dis- 
appointed. 

"You  will  be  astonished,"  said  Gandolphe; 
"it  can't  be  helped.  There  is  one  essential  thing 
that  we  must  make  you  understand ; — you  are  one 
of  the  lucky  ones!" 

Jean  was  astounded.     He  cried:  "Lucky?     I?" 

' '  Yes, — lucky,  fortunate ! ' ' 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  this.  Look  from  one  end  to  the  other 
of  Europe.  Where  are  the  young  men  of  your 
generation  now?  Six  out  of  ten  are  rotting  in 
the  ground ,  with  the  dreams  they  fashioned .  Of  the 
rest,  eighteen  out  of  twenty,  perhaps,  are  in  the 
struggle.  They  have  no  right  to  make  a  promise, 
a  wish,  a  plan,  nor  even  to  count  on  lasting  till  the 
morrow.  A  life  made  up  of  more  privations  than 
the  anchorites  knew,  of  more  suffering  than  the 
slaves  of  any  age  endured,  the  almost  certain 
prospect  of  perhaps  imminent  death,  either 
sudden  (struck  down,  blown  to  bits,  or  suffocated), 
or  preceded  by  agony  to  which  none  of  the  ancient 
tortures  could  be  compared — that  is  their  lot! 


3i  8  A  Life  at  Stake 

Or  perhaps  to  get  out  of  it  at  the  cost  of  horrible 
mutilations,  deprived  of  one  of  the  four  limbs 
they  were  using  but  lately,  or  of  one  of  their 
senses — sight  or  speech,  or  of  the  power  to  beget !" 

"Well,  I've  got  my  share!"  said  Jean,  raising 
his  crippled  arm. 

' '  Would  you  not  have  given  all  of  it  ? " 

Darboise  indeed  remembered  his  boyish  vow, 
and  what  sacrifice  he  would  have  consented  to, 
to  be  sure  of  returning.  But  the  man  who  was 
talking  to  him — safe  and  sound,  and  he  had  risked 
nothing!  The  sergeant  read  in  his  face  a  sort  of 
derision : 

"I?    Yet,  if  I  could  have  your  wound — 

"You  know — where  they're  got!" 

"I've  not  been  there,  "  said  Gandolphe,  without 
rebellion  against  the  sarcasm;  "but  is  it  a  per- 
manent state?  I  may  be  going — a  month  hence. 
Well,  if  that  does  happen,  I  declare  without  false 
shame  that  I  shall  do  nothing  to  get  out  of  it,  but 
I  shall  go  trembling,  and  I  shall  envy  with  all  my 
heart,  as  I  envy  them  today,  those  who  have  not 
stayed  there." 

He  took  off  his  eyeglasses  and  his  fine  eyes 
blinked  in  the  sunshine:  "Life!  Does  one  value 
it?  If  it  were  only  the  free  play  of  one's  limbs! 
And  then, — light,  music,  sweet  scents,  and  the 
intelligence  which  rules  the  world.  On  a  fine 
morning  like  this,  to  be  a  young  man  like  you, 

assured  of  his  future " 

"Alas!  "said  Jean. 


The  Leaven  of  Strength       319 

But  in  spite  of  himself,  his  nostrils  dilated.  He 
felt  the  strong  briny  savour  on  his  lips,  he  felt 
the  warm  air  sensuously  filling  his  lungs.  The 
light  on  the  sea  was  transformed.  The  three 
green  bars  of  a  moment  ago  had  melted  into 
cerulean  blue.  A  phosphorescent  nimbus  hung 
over  the  whole  expanse.  And  then,  from  the 
depths  of  his  distress  Jean  felt  that  some  leaven  of 
strength  was  beginning  to  work  again  within  him. 


CHAPTER  III 

MILITARISM 

BUT  the  disease  to  which  he  had  fallen  a  victim 
was  too  real.  The  young  man  stumbled  again 
upon  bitterness  when  he  thought  of  the  hateful 
regime.  His  companion  had  evidently  suffered 
less  under  it.  An  N.  C.  O.,  anyway  I  Did  he  mean 
to  defend  it  ?  To  his  surprise  the  other  declared : 
"I  know — all  your  rebellious  feelings  are  justified; 
all  your  indignation,  it  is  shared  by  me. " 

"Seriously?"  Darboise  could  hardly  believe 
his  ears. 

"Oh,  militarism!"  said  Gandolphe. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"The  enemy  of  all  times. " 

"Quite  recently,  I  thought,  on  the  contrary!" 

"No!  Force  against  Intelligence!  It  may 
have  borne  other  names.  It  was  the  tyranny  of 
kings ;  the  '  will  and  pleasure, '  '  under  Royal  war- 
rant. '  In  certain  eras,  it  was  religious  despotism. 
The  Grand  Inquisitors,  now,  they  were  militarists. 
When  Voltaire  uttered  his  famous  cry,  'Down 
with  Superstition!'  he  spoke  in  the  name  of 
Reason  against  a  humiliating  subjection.  To- 

320 


Militarism  321 

day,  for  many  reasons,  the  danger  comes  less 
from  the  Church.  But  one  can  repeat  the  cry 
now  that  another  Superstition  imperils  all  our 
victories,  all  of  our  Civilisation. " 

The  sergeant  made  a  gesture  of  enthusiasm: 
"To  think — to  think  that  for  centuries  there 
have  been  men,  and  Frenchmen  among  them, 
Frenchmen  especially,  who  have  striven  for  the 
liberation  of  conscience,  for  the  raising  of  human 
dignity!  Think  what  was  done  in  1789,  two 
Revolutions  ago;  and  that  after  forty-five  years 
of  the  Republic,  in  the  dawn  of  that  twentieth 
century  in  which  Man  should  have  sprung  into  life 
and  vigour,  we  are  finding  our  way  back  there 
again!" 

"Then — you're  like  me?"  said  Jean,  whom  this 
language  astonished. 

"One  has  only  to  think  of  it  for  a  second. 
What  is  the  military  regime,  if  it  is  not  the  sim- 
plest and  roughest  form  of  absolutism?  It  is  a 
mechanism  created  for  imposing  force,  and  force 
is  everything  to  it.  That  is  enough  to  show  that 
the  mind  is  its  adversary — they  are  principles  in 
eternal  conflict !  What  is  the  corner-stone  of  the 
armies?  Discipline.  Now,  when  you  speak  of 
discipline,  you  speak  of  the  negation  of  argument. 
The  subordinate  can  only  bow  to  the  decision  of 
his  chief,  were  the  latter  tenfold  wrong.  You 
see  the  risk.  What  a  prize  to  offer  to  the  danger- 
ous instincts  of  man!  Think  of  the  unlimited 
power  of  the  superior  over  his  subordinates,  of 


322  A  Life  at  Stake 

the  formidable  penalties  put  at  his  disposition. 
He  is  a  superior  who  need  not  have  any  sort  of 
superiority.  One  tab  more  and  it  is  done — the 
law  of  iron;  and  himself  subject  to  the  same 
absolutism.  What  intoxication  for  mediocre 
brains!  What  a  superior  type  of  man  he  would 
need  be  to  resist  it !  And  hence  these  usual  results 
— arrogance,  indolence,  dread  of  responsibility, 
hatred  of  ability,  a  cynical  don't-care-ism, — do  I 
paint  the  picture  too  black?" 

In  vain,  Gandolphe  went  on,  he  sought  in 
militarism  a  fount  of  talent  which  might  elsewhere 
have  had  the  chance  of  better  development.  To 
return  to  the  question  of  discipline,  it  was  no 
doubt  a  primary  virtue,  if  only  it  did  not  exclude 
the  right  to  reason.  Even  if  passive  obedience 
and  blind  submission  to  the  will  of  the  Higher 
Command  wTere  possibly  necessary  to  the  infernal 
work  of  war,  they  bore  a  singular  resemblance  to 
the  attributes  of  slaves. 

"Look  at  the  'attention'  order,"  he  went  on; 
"heels  together,  arms  close  to  the  body,  head 
erect — did  not  one  feel  that  the  man  was  enslaved, 
unable  to  reason  and  even  to  defend  himself? 
Every  time  I  have  stood  at  attention — very 
badly — or  even  when  I  see  it  done,  how  heartily  I 
long  for  the  day  when  no  one  will  think  fit  to  inflict 
such  humiliation  on  another!" 

Jean  nodded  his  head.  The  sergeant  emphas- 
ised the  folly  that  blows  unceasingly,  like  an 
irresistible  fate,  across  the  military  world, — folly 


Militarism  323 

elevated  into  dogma.  One  had  only  to  note  the 
formulas  in  which  all  the  philosophy  of  the  soldier 
had  expressed  it:  "One  mustn't  try  to  under- 
stand"; "I've  reported  and  I  don't  care  a  damn 
now."  "It's  according  to  regulations." 

"One  laughs  about  it,  but  it's  more  of  a  crying 
matter!" 

' '  And  the  injustices ! ' '  said  Darboise,  in  a  hollow 
voice. 

"Injustices — they're  inevitable!  You  and  I, 
both  of  us,  have  had  to  bewail  them.  And  we 
are  not  the  only  ones ;  there  are  thousands,  millions 
of  our  brothers.  Think,  Darboise,  of  what  is 
going  on  every  hour  over  all  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  country,  the  unheard-of  crimes 
being  committed  against  justice  and  humanity. 
What  you  have  seen  here  is  mild.  Everywhere 
one  sees  the  same  consequence  of  personal,  relig- 
ious, and  electoral  jealousy  and  spite,  the  effects  of 
the  mere  crotchets  of  the  big  bugs,  the  daily  total  of 
exceeded  rights,  vexations,  and  scandals,  whether 
yonder  in  the  trenches  or  at  the  rear,  the  depots, 
the  hospitals,  the  factories!  Some  of  the  news- 
papers, under  such  headings  as  'Facts  which  Talk' ! 
'May  One  Say?'  'Is  it  True  That—?'  hint  at 
some  things,  but  the  Censor  wipes  out  the  details. 
Why,  if  the  facts  are  accurate?  I  don't  know  if 
you're  like  me,  but  every  time  I  read  such  lines,  a 
frenzy  seizes  me,  and  I  could  shout  out.  A  single 
proved  instance  of  injustice,  persisted  and  gloried 
in,  drives  me  mad !  One  imbecility !  In  our  time ! 


324  A  Life  at  Stake 

And  I  ask  myself  again  'My  poor  country,  what 
are  you  coming  to'  ? " 

This  indictment  revived  Darboise's  personal 
grievances  in  greater  bitterness;  and  he  said: 

"You  see  what  good  reason  there  is  for — 
chucking  up  the  sponge!" 

"NoP'saidGandolphe. 

"After  such  a  relapse?" 

"And  if  it  was  necessary,  before  the  final 
advance?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Militarism  is  a  plague,  a  social  scourge.  But 
suppose  that  which  we  bewail  were  only  a  reflec- 
tion of  what  rages  elsewhere,  or  only  a  rejoinder  to 
it — a  rejoinder  designed  to  administer  a  fatal  blow 
to  the  other?" 

In  broad  lines  Gandolphe  sketched  a  vast  politi- 
cal thesis.  In  France  (as  in  England)  the  spirit 
of  military  imperialism  held  in  check  in  spite  of 
all  by  the  democratic  spirit.  No  recruiting  across 
the  Channel,  and  hardly  an  army.  In  France, 
the  period  of  compulsory  "service"  regarded  as 
an  out-of-date  "fatigue,"  and  war  looked  upon 
as  a  monstrosity  whose  horror  made  it  so  im- 
probable that  one  did  not  make  ready  for  it. 
In  France,  the  cult  of  brute  force,  of  discipline,  of 
conquest,  and  even  of  revenge, *  was  left  to  a  small 
number  of  sectarians  or  isolated  dreamers.  More- 
over, the  fomenters  of  such  doctrines  remained 

1  In  France,  the  word  "revanche"  carried  a  specific,  if  ulterior, 
reference  to  the  1870  war  and  the  loss  of  Alsace-Lorraine. — TR. 


Militarism  325 

rather  as  men  of  unreality  than  of  calculating 
realism. 

On  the  other  hand  there  was  a  country  in 
Europe,  a  great  country,  where  the  infernal  war- 
like ardour  glowed  in  the  souls  of  men.  Over 
there,  all  alike — the  commercial  world,  the  philoso- 
phers, and  the  people — were  in  accord  with  the 
Junkers;  and  all  looked  upon  expansion  by  the 
sword  as  the  speedy  way  to  impose  their  triumph- 
ant hegemony.  And  the  frightful  machine  arose 
by  their  unanimous  consent. 

It  was  impossible  to  clear  them  from  that 
fundamental  responsibility.  Militarism,  Imperial- 
ism found  their  chosen  homes  in  the  central 
empires.  All  their  ways  of  life  were  infected. 
There,  the  period  of  military  service  was  an 
honour  sought  after  by  the  humblest  citizen. 
Even  their  "attention"  was  stiffer  and  more 
humiliating  than  ours,  the  salute  more  obsequious ; 
and  as  for  the  parade  goose-step — !  To  all  this 
must  be  added  the  haughtiness  of  the  officers' 
caste,  the  corporal  punishments,  the  kicks,  and 
the  sword-blade  blows.  Such  was  the  spirit  of  the 
army  in  which  the  nation  delighted. 

More  still;  one  saw  the  nation  contaminated  in 
its  turn  by  the  same  virus.  Hence  such  abomin- 
able vagaries  as  that  a  High  Court  judge  and  an 
old  lady  saw  nothing  unusual  in  their  yielding 
their  right  of  way  on  the  sidewalk  to  a  beardless 
subaltern.  From  top  to  bottom  of  society  there 
was  the  same  deferential  worship  for  vested 


326  A  Life  at  Stake 

positions, — grovel  before  the  brass-hat ! — the  same 
snobbish  hypocrisy,  the  same  basis  of  cruelty, 
vulgarity,  and  materialism.  Such  was  Germany 
at  the  moment  when  she  decided  to  make  use  of 
her  "Kolossal"  preparations.  Such  was  the 
religion  she  offered  the  world,  along  with  her 
coarse  cleanness  and  her  gift  of  organisation ;  and 
such  a  present  did  not  make  up  for  the  other! 
And  one  should  realise  that  when  France  stood 
upright  again  upon  the  Marne,  that  was  the 
sublimity  of  Mind  barring  the  way  to  the  invading 
armies  of  Matter.  In  those  days,  the  IdeaJ 
escaped  from  the  gravest  danger  that  had  threat- 
ened it  since  Marathon,  since  Cannes,  since  the 
Catalaunian  Fields.1  To  the  men  who  shared 
in  that  victory  is  the  promise  of  eternal  glory ! 

"But  since  then,"  said  Jean,  thrilled;  "if  our 
nation  has  become  in  its  turn  gangrened  by 
militarism  ? ' ' 

"No,"  the  sergeant  declared;  "I  put  my  trust 
in  the  instinct  of  the  race.  Only  think  that  just 
now,  in  the  midst  of  war,  we  are  recruiting  new 
converts."  How  many  good  people  there  used 
to  be  who  lived  outside  the  military  yoke  and  were 
inclined  to  admit  that  it  was  in  a  measure  toler- 
able! What  an  awakening  for  them,  now  that 
they  have  experienced  its  rigours !  In  the  hearts 
of  all  oppressed  people,  of  all  to  whom  the  sus- 

1  From  the  Latin  "Campi  Catalaunici, "  now  Chalons-sur- 
Marne,  where  in  A.  D.  451,  the  Romans  defeated  Attila  the  Hun, 
the  "Scourge  of  God. "— TR. 


Militarism  327 

tenance  of  Justice  and  Reason  is  refused,  the 
adoration  of  those  gods  takes  root.  And  they  who 
have  fought  will  return  with  consecrated  affections 
and  holy  hatreds.  The  oppressors  will  not  hold 
fast;  their  eyes  will  open  likewise.  When  the 
German  might  comes  to  stagger,  when  their 
militarism  collapses,  the  qualities  which  they 
threatened  will  be  mightily  let  loose  throughout 
the  world.  Our  own  militarism  will  be  cleaned 
away,  too.  And  when  the  monstrous  beast  is 
killed,  then  we  shall  be  able  to  hold  out  hopes  that 
this  war  was  the  last. 

"Perhaps!"  said  Darboise. 

But  he  remained  subdued.  The  thought  of  the 
"last  war"  was  good  enough  to  soothe  his  soul; 
and  it  was  much  to  him  to  know  that  millions  of 
men  were  sharing  his  rebellion.  And  yet,  in  the 
all-pervading  silence,  they  suddenly  started  at  a 
crackling  noise  quite  near  them.  The  Zouaves 
werebeginning  to  fire ;  and  Darboise  recalled,  in  spite 
of  himself,  the  recent  circumstances  when  just  such 
another  rattle  from  the  instrument  of  death  sound- 
ed in  his  ears.  Once  more  the  world  seemed  to 
drape  itself  in  the  hue  of  mourning, — Claude 
Boucheron,  Aug£ures !  In  a  choked  voice,  he  said : 

' '  I  could  forgive  everything — I  could  be  patient 
—but  these  heaps  of  dead — my  friends  who  have 
all  fallen,  my  master,  my  brother — I  am  left  alone. 
Can  you  say,  when  I  think  of  that 

Gandolphe  sighed:  "Yes,  indeed;  that  is  what's 
irreparable!" 


328  A  Life  at  Stake 

"So  then,  even  your  wisdom  proves  useless,  you 
see." 

"For  what?" 

"To  give  me  any  real  reasons " 

"Reasons  for  doing  what?" 

As  Jean  was  silent,  the  other  went  on:  "Come 
now;  we're  agreed,  eh,  that  the  essential  matter  of 
regret  is  death  ? ' ' 

"Yes." 

"What's  overpowering  you  is  the  ravages  of 
death  around  you?" 

"Principally  that,  yes. " 

' '  Then,  tell  me.     Were  you  quite — logical  ? ' ' 

"In— what?" 

The  sergeant  looked  at  him:  "My  lad — in 
wanting  to  kill  yourself?" 

A  blush  rose  to  Jean's  forehead :  "What  did  you 
know  about  it?" 

"This  morning,  eh?  You'd  decided  on  this 
morning?" 

' '  And  when  did  you ? ' ' 

"Ah,  you  did  give  me  a  night  of  it!" 

"How?     Where?" 

"At  the  end  of  the  corridor,  with  my  eyes  on  the 
knob  of  your  door. " 

Jean  was  touched.  He  remembered  their  curious 
encounter  in  the  early  morning:  "You  had  that 
pluck?" 

"It  was  worth  while.  " 

"Hum!" 

"A  life!" 


Militarism  329 

"Even  when  it  makes  such  a  botch  of  things?" 

Darboise  pretended  to  be  still  morosely  per- 
plexed. But  his  desire  to  die  seemed  to  have 
evaporated  in  the  warmth  of  the  breeze. 

The  sergeant  got  up:  "I  must  go  and  glance 
at  my  chaps!" 

Just  as  he  was  going  away,  he  turned  towards 
his  companion  and  said,  with  a  friendly  smile: 

"Tell  me,  then,  that— it's  done  with,  eh?" 

"What's  done  with?" 

4 '  Your — bad  notions  ? ' ' 

Said  Jean,  chaffingly:  "Who  knows?  When 
it's  dark,  and  I  find  myself  alone  again 

"Just  think,  that  when  it's  dark,  the  sun  is 
making  his  way  towards  us —  With  imperious 
gentleness  Gandolphe  repeated:  "Swear  to  me — 
that  you'll  give  up  that  folly. " 

Darboise  felt  the  high-minded  ascendency  over 
him :  "  I  owe  so  much  to  you,  sergeant. " 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  SPARK  WITHIN  THE  SOUL 

THE  day  ended  as  in  a  dream.  After  his  long 
journey  in  the  open  air,  the  night  found  Darboise 
in  the  unbroken  slumber  of  a  child;  and  in  the 
growing  dawn,  he  set  off  again. 

As  all  the  battalions  of  the  sector  were  taking 
turns  at  the  firing  practice,  this  state  of  affairs 
would  be  prolonged  into  weeks; — rising  before 
the  sun,  the  walk  in  the  fresh  morning,  the  peace- 
ful sentry-go  under  the  bountiful  sky  of  August 
and  then  of  September,  the  ten  o'clock  respite, 
when  our  sentries  repaired  to  the  little  tavern  for 
breakfast,  with  a  devil  of  an  appetite! 

All  nine  of  them — ten,  with  Gandolphe — lived 
by  themselves,  and  hardly  came  into  contact  with 
the  company.  The  sergeant  had  read  them  a 
sermon, — they  were  good  boys,  selected  by  him 
with  great  care;  and  the  least  they  could  do  was 
to  get  on  with  each  other  like  good  comrades ! 

And,  in  fact,  they  were  soon  inspired  by  a 
felicitous  ' '  esprit  de  corps. ' '  Only  Gautier  Charles 
kept  himself  rather  aloof  for  a  time.  Before  he 
would  join  in  the  games  of  cross-cat  and  leap-frog 

330 


The  Spark  Within  the  Soul     331 

organised  in  the  moments  of  rest,  he  required 
nothing  less  than  the  leading  example  of  Gan- 
dolphe.  He  was  put  out  of  humour,  too,  in  the 
course  of  the  first  fortnight,  by  two  or  three  lively 
spirits  who  brought  the  sergeant's  rebuke  on 
themselves. 

Gandolphe  took  care  that  his  sentries'  duties 
were  observed,  that  the  bugler  bugled,  and  that 
his  men  were  in  their  places  at  the  exact  minute. 
He  took  his  bicycle  with  him,  and  once  or  twice 
a  day  each  sentry  saw  him  appear  just  when  he 
was  least  expected. 

Adventure  and  difficulties  cropped  up,  such  as 
on  that  morning  when  a  party  of  the  Engineers 
sought  to  dig  trenches  in  the  middle  of  the  for- 
bidden zone.  Gandolphe  stuck  to  his  guns  and 
won  the  day  against  an  adjutant  who  got  angry 
and  discourteous. 

And  it  was  the  same  one  afternoon  when,  as 
they  came  away  from  lunch,  they  found  quite  an 
imposing  array  of  English  troops  on  the  beach. 
The  Tommies  had  undressed  and  were  ready  to 
bathe.  Now  this  was  the  moment  when  the  firing 
should  begin.  Gandolphe  made  representations 
in  English. 

"Oh!  Dangerous,  yes!"  conceded  a  spruce 
lieutenant. 

Pincivy's  advice  was:  "Can't  be  helped!  It's 
their  funeral!  Let  'em  alone!" 

But  the  sergeant  preferred  to  send  by  urgent 
messenger  a  warning  which  caused  the  firing  to  be 


332  A  Life  at  Stake 

held  up.  The  officer  in  charge  lost  his  temper 
and  made  a  report  to  headquarters,  and  there  was 
quite  a  comedy.  Three  times  within  a  week 
Gandolphe  was  sent  for  to  Dunkerque  to  give 
evidence. 

"Well,  Sergeant?  Plenty  of  bother!"  said 
Pincivy  to  him. 

"Yes,  old  chap;  but  it  would  have  been  a  worse 
misfortune  if  some  one  had  got  killed." 

On  the  other  hand,  as  he  smilingly  admitted, 
the  example  of  these  English  had  given  him  an 
idea, — to-morrow  they  would  bring  bathing- 
drawers  ! 

And  so  it  was.  Jean  suspected  that  he  had 
himself  bought  some  for  the  three  most  impecun- 
ious ones.  In  the  days  of  heat  which  followed, 
the  last  of  the  summer,  they  had  the  delight  of 
offering  their  nakedness  to  the  sea  air,  the  sun- 
shine, the  briny  waves,  of  chasing  each  other 
along  the  sands. 


Thus  did  Gandolphe  succeed  in  maintaining 
good  feeling  and  good  temper  in  his  little  company 
— a  worthy  work.  And  he  had  taken  on  another. 
Between  his  rounds  he  never  failed  to  come  and 
rejoin  Jean.  They  strolled  up  and  down  together 
to  the  tune  of  interminable  chat. 

Darboise  had  always  had  a  liking  for  general 
theorising;  and  among  the  most  valued  hours  of 
his  youth  he  reckoned  the  time  spent  in  exchanging 


The  Spark  Within  the  Soul     333 

paradoxes  with  Augu£res,  Boussac,  Chinard,  and 
others;  or  the  evenings  at  Claude  Boucheron's, 
when  the  master  and  his  fellows  poured  out  their 
dazzling  fancies. 

Sometimes  Jean  had  regretted  the  absence  in 
himself  of  a  really  cultivated  philosophy,  and  this 
led  him  at  first,  in  a  certain  timidity,  to  avoid  the 
risk  of  a  face-to-face  conflict  of  ideas  with  the 
man  who  had  shown  himself  the  other  day,  in 
the  breadth  of  the  matters  he  had  discussed,  an 
expert  in  dialectics.  But  his  companion  put 
such  kindly  good-nature  into  it,  and  sought  to 
give  him  pretexts  for  co-ordinating  his  thoughts, 
that  gradually  Jean  recovered  his  former  self- 
confidence,  his  passion  and  his  ability  for  connected 
argument. 

What  subjects  did  they  not  touch  upon  in  the 
course  of  those  translucent  mornings  or  broiling 
afternoons !  At  first  it  was  the  essential  problem  of 
good  and  evil.  Jean  had  identified  in  the  sergeant 
the  existence  of  a  faith,  a  generous  enthusiasm; 
and  on  that  he  attacked  him : 

"You  see  only  the  good!" 

' '  Wherever  there  is  any ! ' ' 

"That  is  to  say?" 

"Wherever  there  is  life!  Good  is  the  note  of 
the  universe." 

Darboise  sighed :  "  I  used  to  believe  it.  No  one 
— no  one  was  more  of  an  optimist  than  I. " 

He  remembered  the  fervent  outlook  upon  life 
of  his  twenty  years,  his  arguments  on  the  subject 


334  A  Life  at  Stake 

with  Andree — ah,  Andree!  He  saw  good  fellows 
everywhere,  his  masters  and  his  fellow-disciples, 
all  those  friends  that  he  could  count  upon — and 
Chinard  in  the  front  rank !  He  was  uninterested 
in  politics.  In  his  eyes,  society  rested  on  rational 
bases,  and  the  part  of  the  artist  in  it  was  beautiful. 
The  governing  world,  to  which  he  was  a  stranger, 
inspired  him  not  so  much  with  mistrust  as  with 
a  sort  of  ingenuous  deference.  How  could  one 
not  believe  in  men  whose  panegyrics  he  read  every 
morning  in  the  newspaper?  Ah,  his  disenchant- 
ment since  then !  Not  only  in  the  matter  of  the 
governing  class,  whom  he  could  never  forgive  for 
having  made  possible  and  probable  the  monstrous 
conflict  of  today;  but  in  man  himself!  That 
was  what  he  had  learned  in  the  school  of  war! 
He  had  torn  the  bandage  from  his  eyes  and  had 
seen  through  the  barbarous  and  brutally  malig- 
nant elements  in  sorrowful  humanity ! 

"Here  now,  for  instance,  and  apart  from  your- 
self, who's  the  'right  sort'?" 

"Oh!    Apart  from  me/11 

"Apart  from  you,  yes;  I  wouldn't  give  a 

you  know! — for  all  I've  met!" 

' '  Come  now !   If  it  were  only — your  cousins " 

"I'm  talking  about  soldiers!"  Jean  passed 
in  review  those  round  about  him,  judged  and 
condemned  them  all  in  a  word:  the  troopers — a 
grotesque  and  bestial  race;  Decante  and  Caze- 
nave — slippery  people!  As  for  the  heads!  The 
captain,  a  lunatic;  the  lieutenant,  a  sly  evil-doer; 


The  Spark  Within  the  Soul     335 

the  adjutant,  an  insipid  fop.  In  other  places,  it 
was  worse.  What  of  the  Port  ?  Brigadier  Nerau- 
din,  with  the  soul  of  a  slave-driver,  the  absurd 
Deludat — Moulin,  Dubus,  and  all  the  lot!  Speci- 
mens like  those  made  one  fall  out  with  humanity ! 

The  sergeant  stopped  him :  ' '  But  you're  playing 
an  easy  game,  you  know." 

"How's  that?" 

"In  effect,  you  can  see  only  mobilised  men, 
and  among  them  some  non-coms,  and  officers  to 
whom,  as  we  have  agreed,  all  virtues  are  difficult. 
It's  the  system  that  I  abhor;  I  forgive  the  men;  I 
still  admire  the  gleams  of  reason  and  justice  that 
their  divine  essence  permits  to  shine  from  under 
that  obliterating  exterior." 

"Don't  you  find  that  difficult?"  murmured 
Jean,  ironically. 

"I'm  not  joking.  When  I  find,  in  a  being  as 
bad  as  you  imagine  him  to  be,  an  action  or  word 
or  thought  which  reveals  a  trace  of  gentleness  or 
goodness,  then  I  feel  there  is  trembling  within  him 
that  essence  of  his  generous  nature  which  the 
circumstances  in  the  midst  of  which  he  has  de- 
veloped, harrowing  as  they  may  be,  have  failed  to 
alter  entirely.  There  is  hope  for  him.  And  in 
making  the  experiment,  only  rarely  does  that 
blessed  presence  fail  to  appear." 

' '  Hum !     Take  the  men  of  the  detachment — 

"Monade,  now!  You  dislike  him?  Yet  I've 
seen  him  stand  up  for  you  at  the  risk  of  exasperat- 
ing the  lieutenant.  Papa  Meunier?  An  old  pre- 


336  A  Life  at  Stake 

tentious  imbecile,  I  grant  you.  Do  you  know 
that  he's  taken  charge,  in  Paris,  of  two  grand- 
nieces,  his  brother's  son  having  been  killed?" 

"Really?     I  didn't  know, "  said  Jean. 

"Fauvel?  No  one  more  than  I  has  reason  to 
complain  of  him.  I  believe  him — '  He  touched 
his  forehead. 

"Touched?"  Darboise asked. 

"Yes.  But  how  can  one  help  pitying  him? — 
a  fragment  of  shell  in  his  back — injury  to  the 
spine. " 

Gandolphe  went  on :  "  As  for  the  others,  whether 
it's  the  brigadier,  Deludat,  or  all  the  gang  of 
convict-warders  at  the  Textile,  do  we  know 
enough  about  them?  We  see  their  cruel  faces, 
which  can  be  excused  perhaps ;  and  have  they  not 
perhaps  another  aspect — human,  sublime — why 
not?  Don't  despair  of  any  one.  Events  some- 
times improve  them.  Moulin,  you  know,  ad- 
jutant at  the  Office  of  Staff,  one  of  those  whose 
cold  severity  has  been  most  unbearable  to  me — 
well,  in  the  last  fortnight,  he's  transformed. 
Thanks  to  him,  a  chap's  just  got  court-martialled, 
and  the  charge  being  grave,  he  got  ten  years' 
imprisonment — ten  years — a  shattered  life.  Just 
after,  he  hears  of  the  death  of  his  only  son  at 
Bouchavesnes,  and  he's  badly  knocked;  bowled 
over  with  remorse,  and  now  all  the  time  on  the 
track  of  injustices  to  put  right.  Quite  paternal 
towards  the  poor  world — converted.  I'm  always 
on  the  look-out  for  the  conversion  of  those  people.  " 


The  Spark  Within  the  Soul     337 

"For  that  of  Dubus?" 

Gandolphe  laughed  frankly:  "Ah,  for  once,  no! 
I  know  him  too  well.  I've  never  heard  a  single 
good  deed  put  to  his  credit.  I  grant  you  Dubus ! ' ' 

He  stopped  chaffing  and  went  on:  "But  what's 
one  Dubus  in  the  multitude?  The  exception 
proves  the  rule.  Let's  look  round  again.  Even 
here,  aren't  there  any  men  who  deserve  well  of 
you?" 

As  Jean  was  raising  his  eyes,  Gandolphe  said: 
"Alquier,  head  surgeon  at  the  hospital?" 

"Very  nice  to  me,  that's  true!" 

"AndLavigne?" 

Jean  thought  of  the  number  of  his  companions 
for  whom  the  good  fellow  had  "wangled"  the 
granting  and  stamping  of  railway-permits  and 
leave-papers,  for  the  secret  coming  of  their  wives! 
He  twisted  the  regulations,  but  only  where  the 
latter  were  inhuman.  His  was  the  calling  of 
a  St.  Bernard  dog — without  the  least  personal 
advantage!  And  this  was  all  for  pals — and 
often  for  passers-by — whom  he  would  never  see 
again.  Did  one  have  to  search  for  human  kind- 
ness there? 

At  this  point  Darboise  could  not  restrain  a  little 
sarcastic  laugh :  ' '  All  the  same — poor  old  Lavigne, 
— he  boozes!" 

1 '  He  boozes  ?  Because  he's  unhappy  and  lonely. 
Instead  of  making  game  of  him,  oughtn't  we  to 
cure  him?" 

"You  try  it  on!" 


338  A  Life  at  Stake 

"Exactly.  We're  having  lunch  together  on 
Sunday.  I'm  going  to  try  to  become  friends 
with  him." 

Gandolphe  went  on :  "And  the  foundation  of  the 
crowd,  the  people,  let's  return  to  the  common 
people!  It's  on  them  that  we've  got  to  build." 
He  was  alluding  to  the  peasant,  whose  so  many 
lowly  virtues  transfigure  him  in  warfare:  "You 
know  him  better  than  I  do. " 

Jean  thought  of  Daumalin,  his  comrade-in- 
arms at  Nanteuil  and  Champien.  They  kept 
watch  one  night  together  at  the  entry  to  Quesnoy- 
en-Sahterre.  His  was  a  choice  soul  under  a  rustic 
exterior,  with  his  Beauce  dialect;  one  of  those 
whose  memory  remained  graven  on  Jean's  heart. 

The  sergeant  cited  their  companions : 

"Mortas,  Poitou,  Brochard,  and  the  others! 
Natures  of  surprising  affection  and  sensitiveness. 
I  ask  you,  Darboise — if  we  were  taking  those  boys 
up  to  the  firing  line,  wouldn't  they  make  a  famous 
squad?" 

"They  would  follow  you  anywhere!" 

Gandolphe  repeated:  "Anywhere.  What  a 
result  to  get  without  much  trouble!  Attachment 
and  devotion,  unselfishness — all  natural  flowers! 
Ah,  is  man  really  bad?" 

No ;  he  rose  against  the  doctrine,  either  written 
or  thought,  which  took  pleasure  in  dragging  the 
basest  side  of  the  species  into  the  light,  and  reduced 
man  to  the  proportions  of  a  "wanton  and  ferocious 
gorilla,"  as  a  great  writer  had  said.  That  man 


The  Spark  Within  the  Soul     339 

was  an  egotist  was  the  great  grievance,  and  that 
was  tantamount  to  saying — what?  That  his 
guiding  principle  was  the  desire  to  preserve  himself 
and  be  happy — in  a  word,  the  appetite  for  life. 
So,  if  life  was  a  good  thing,  then  the  appetite 
for  it  was  legitimate  and  sacred  also!  By  all 
means,  check  the  errors  into  which  he  may  be  led, 
but  has  one  any  right  to  make  no  allowances 
for  him?  Why  try  to  compel  nature?  Certainly 
religions  and  moralities  went  too  far  (and  the 
Catholic  religion  was  the  foremost  in  the  matter) 
in  requiring  that  man  should  begin  by  sacrificing 
his  instincts  on  their  altar.  Only  some  too 
peculiar  minds  agree  to  it,  while  the  multitude 
is  reduced  to  wringing  its  hands  before  virtue  the 
inaccessible.  Besides,  would  one  dare  to  preach 
that  the  rational  delights  of  egotism  should  be 
renounced,  the  enjoyments  offered  to  this  creature 
of  a  day  be  taken  away?  Might  one  not  permit 
man  his  rush  into  all  sorts  of  pleasure,  and  even 
teach  him  respect  for  voluptuous  delights,  a  con- 
secrated fruit  which  is  also  of  God? 

Gandolphe  dreamed  of  a  moral  philosophy 
which  should  consist  in  seeking  all  good  things 
that  life  has  to  offer,  that  He  may  be  magnified 
and  it  enjoyed;  a  school  of  human  development 
and  not  of  suffocation.  Ah,  seek  to  cultivate  that 
noble  groundwork  of  man  which  one  finds — the 
sergeant  declared  it  with  passionate  fervour — 
in  the  vilest  of  men,  the  most  disinherited;  seek  to 
help  him  carry  home  the  wealth  of  his  harvest! 


340  A  Life  at  Stake 

"Goodness,  charity,  compassion,  the  forgiving 
of  wrongs " 

"All — Christian  virtues!"  remarked  Jean. 

"Quite  so!  Isn't  Christianity  one  of  the  finest 
moral  authorities  that  humanity  has  raised?  I 
accuse  it  only  of  some  harshness  and  narrowness. 
Let  it  be  useful  to  us,  if  it  is  no  longer  sufficient 
for  us." 

Gandolphe  then  invoked  examples,  and  reduced 
to  a  few  formulas  that  lofty  and  sociable  morality 
whose  advent  he  so  desired;  intellectual  axioms 
as  well  as  precepts  for  the  conscience:  "Be 
sincere  to  yourself,"  "Don't  be  satisfied  with 
words,"  "Get  at  people's  hearts,"  "Better  a 
little  evil  for  me  than  a  big  one  for  some  one 
else." 

Emphasising  that  last  rule,  he  suddenly  revealed 
the  application  and  bearing  of  it.  To  despoil  the 
leisured  classes  by  a  stroke  of  the  pen  of  those 
comforts  which  they  considered  necessary  and 
legitimate  would  be  impossible  without  violence 
and  even  without  injustice.  But  they  might*  be 
entreated,  without  yielding  their  conquests,  to 
make  a  step,  several  steps,  as  many  steps  as 
possible,  towards  the  labouring  and  suffering 
class,  to  grant  it  a  little  of  its  money,  its  time, 
its  interests. 

"A  little  of  its  heart  above  all!  It  would  be  so 
valuable  and  it  is  so  rare!  The  good  employer 
like  the  good  officer,  he  who  has  laid  arrogance 
aside  and  cast  out  the  abominable  spirit  of  tyranny, 


The  Spark  Within  the  Soul     341 

what  a  step  he  makes  towards  the  social  solution ! 
Oh,  for  the  day  when  all  will  have  recourse  to  it ! " 
He  was  speaking  truly,  and  Jean  knew  it. 
Hatred  against  officers — officer  and  employer  are 
one  and  the  same  thing — is  never  or  hardly  ever 
due  to  the  tasks  which  they  require;  it  is  aroused 
merely  by  those  whose  gruff  voices  and  scornful 
looks  insult  human  dignity.  In  other  respects — 
the  good  is  deep-rooted!  The  sergeant  quoted 
the  instance  of  the  captain  formerly  command- 
ing his  platoon  of  "exempts."  Ah,  he  didn't 
use  them  sparingly — rarely  was  there  an  hour 
of  relaxation.  But,  on  returning  from  some  ex- 
hausting manoeuvre,  when  he  said,  "My  lads, 
I'm  satisfied  with  you ;  there  will  be  leave  granted," 
all  troubles  were  forgotten,  and  a  burst  of  grati- 
tude went  out  to  him.  Ah,  the  unlimited  devotion 
to  a  courteous  and  just  leader  who  does  not  treat 
you  like  dogs ! 

Gandolphe  became  again  animated : 
"And  one  goes  in  quest  of  happiness!  Is  not 
the  fact  of  being  'the  right  sort,'  whether  con- 
scientious workman  or  benevolent  master, — is 
not  that  the  primary  satisfaction  ?  What  moments 
like  those  when  you  feel  that  you  have  just  shown 
yourself  kind  ?  It  is  a  pity  the  attention  of  youth  is 
hardly  drawn  to  that  point !  One  always  talks  to 
our  children  of  Reason — very  good ! — and  Justice. 
Always  those  dry  and  chilling  virtues,  when  there 
is  the  religion  of  universal  kindness!  Disregard 
sarcasms,  and  disarm  them  by  force  of  forbearance 


342  A  Life  at  Stake 

and — who  forbids  you  ? — intelligence.  Come,  offer 
your  hand  again  to  him  who  has  offended  you, 
and  who  regrets  it  perhaps ;  do  not  humiliate  the 
beaten  foe.  Punish  only  as  a  last  resource,  and 
remove  the  punishment  as  quickly  as  possible. 
Honour  with  an  argument  the  holder  of  even 
the  most  foolish  theories.  By  thus  acting,  what 
grudges  would  be  disarmed,  what  forces  would  be 
rekindled — to  one's  own  and  to  the  general  advan- 
tage! And  when  one  has  done  a  beneficial  deed, 
why  not  enjoy  commendation  ?  But  from  time  to 
time  one  may  have  an  uncommon  pleasure  in 
leaving  some  meritorious  act  in  obscurity,  and 
cultivate  its  memory  to  oneself,  like  a  beautiful 
flower.  When  one  grows  old,  tell  me,  what  recol- 
lection of  glory  or  even  of  love  will  be  sweeter  to 
invoke?" 


CHAPTER  V 

AFTER  THE  WAR — WHAT? 

JEAN  found  himself  pervaded  by  a  feeling  of 
respect.  There  was  something  of  the  apostle  in 
this  lowly  non-com. ,  this  college  teacher !  He  was 
a  type  of  kindness  without  weakness,  of  energy 
without  brutality. 

By  common  consent  they  had  at  first  set  them- 
selves to  semi-abstract  discussions.  But  now 
Jean,  driven  from  one  of  the  strongholds  of  his 
pessimism,  brought  up  again  the  favourite  subject 
by  which  his  trouble  was  increased — the  war! 
What  had  become  of  the  Good  in  an  epoch  dedi- 
cated to  horrors?  He  poured  out  Christian's 
and  Decante's  anathemas  renewed.  There  was 
no  end  in  sight,  and  Europe  was  rolling  into  the 
abyss.  Shame  and  woe  on  the  heads  of  the 
governments  of  all  the  countries ! 

Gandolphe  flatly  refused  to  follow  him  on  to 
that  ground:  "A  subject  laid  by." 

"Why?" 

"Because  we  are  in  the  struggle." 

"Must  we  go  on  with  it?" 

"That  is  not  our  responsibility,"  said  the 
343 


344  A  Life  at  Stake 

sergeant.  "What  do  we  know  of  the  military, 
diplomatic,  and  economic  conditions  under  which 
we  are  fighting  ?  Some  few  men  only — that  is  the 
danger  of  this  formidable  centralisation — are  so 
placed  that  they  can  know  where  they  are  leading 
our  adversaries  and  ourselves  and  what  exact  or 
approximate  meaning  should  be  read  into  their 
lofty  statements  concerning  the  decisive  victory 
which  they  have  promised  us  now  for  two  years. 
Possibly  they  have  made  mistakes !  One  day  they 
will  make  their  reports.  One  day  we  shall  know 
whether  after  the  Marne  or  the  Yser  a  peace  might 
have  been  concluded  which  found  France  great 
and  free,  or  whether  it  was  necessary  to  go  on  with 
the  struggle,  if  it  is  still  necessary  to  go  on  and 
destroy  in  the  other  race  that  base  instinct  of 
invasion  and  expansion  by  armed  force.  " 

"If  the  answer  is  no?"  asked  Jean. 

Gandolphe  hesitated.  One  felt  that  he  had 
scruples.  But  collecting  himself,  he  said: 

"If  they  have  been  mistaken  they  will  pay. 
But  one  thing  is  certain.  Whether  they  go  to 
the  Pantheon  or  the  Gemoniae,  it  is  not  we  their 
contemporaries  who  are  qualified  to  deify  or 
sentence  them.  We  can  only  bow  our  heads  and 
submit  to  the  direction  of  the  leaders  whom  we 
have  chosen.  I  will  say  more  than  that.  Even 
supposing  we  are  convinced  that  they  have  gone 
astray,  it  would  certainly  be  our  duty  not  to  raise 
at  once  a  clamour  of  reproach  upon  them.  The 
time  is  still  too  tragical,  and  the  enemy  is  lying 


After  the  War— What?         345 

in  wait  for  our  faltering.  Don't  let  us  forget  both 
that  the  battle  of  Verdun  is  not  yet  finished,  and 
that  it  is  still  our  existence  as  a  nation  that  is  at 
stake.  A  year  ago,  perhaps  the  question  stood 
differently.  It  is  possible  that  the  verdict  of 
posterity  on  our  statesmen  will  be  severe.  There 
is  one  thing  at  least  in  their  favour — the  tenacity 
of  their  faith  in  final  victory  even  at  the  most 
hopeless  moments.  And  what  sort  of  victory 
does  their  faith,  perhaps  ingenuous,  still  pursue?  I 
doubt  that  one  can  lay  imperialist  visions  at  their 
door.  No,  it  is  a  French  victory,  bringing  en- 
franchisement to  the  world  and  their  liberty  to 
conquered  races. " 

"Our  poor  old  France!"  sighed  Jean;  "what 
will  she  be  on  the  morrow  of  the  war?" 

' '  What  we  make  her. ' ' 

"How  many  will  there  be  of  us?" 

"Enough,  if  we  are  conscientious  in  the  task 
that  lies  heavy  upon  us. " 

"What  task?" 

"To  reconstruct." 

' '  Reconstruct  ?  So  that,  in  thirty  years,  another 
war —  —  ?" 

"There  must  not  be  war  any  more." 

"Do  you  believe  in  disarmament?" 

"Just  don't  I?"  cried  Gandolphe.  "Ask  these 
millions  of  beings  who  are  suffering  and  dying  if  that 
is  not  the  sole  prospect  which  resigns  them  to  it!" 

Darboise  sounded  him.  What  clauses  would 
there  be  in  the  future  treaty  of  peace? 


346  A  Life  at  Stake 

The  other  declined  to  play  the  prophet.  He 
only  expressed  his  hope  that  even  in  the  case  of 
decisive  victory  we  should  not  be  unfaithful  to 
our  native  generosity,  that  we  should  not  excite 
the  will  to  revenge  in  our  enemies  of  today  by 
extravagant  requirements. 

"I  seem  to  be  dreaming  when  I  hear  people 
talk  of  crushing  Germany.  Parcel  out  a  country 
that  has  afforded  a  spectacle  of  cohesion  and 
endurance  such  as  perhaps  the  world  has  never 
seen?  To  parcel  out  that  country,  would  it  not 
be  a  hateful  attempt  on  that  famous  principle  of 
nationality  which  the  Allies  have  inscribed  on 
their  banner,  which  comprises  our  principal  right 
to  pose  as  champions  of  civilisation?  I  am  of 
those  who  count  on  the  preservation  of  a  great 
Germany.  I  mean,  some  will  have  it  that  that 
nation  is  incorrigibly  warlike  and  athirst  for 
empire.  Nonsense!  I  see  her  on  the  contrary 
having  profited  by  the  lesson,  having  learned  in 
her  turn  that  every  claim  of  a  race  to  supremacy 
in  the  world  is  doomed  to  a  disastrous  check. 
War!  As  if  there  could  be  an  instinct  of  madness 
among  the  deep  strata  of  the  nations  which  drives 
them  towards  the  ravages  of  machine-guns,  the 
frightfulness  of  bombardments,  the  horror  of 
trenches  in  winter!  On  the  contrary,  what  a 
repulsion  drives  them  away  from  it,  in  Germany 
as  much  as  here,  householders  and  shopkeepers, 
workmen  and  peasants,  who  wish  only  to  ac- 
quire a  little  comfort,  to  enjoy  the  good  things  of 


After  the  War— What?         347 

life  and  the  smiles  of  their  children !  If  their  rulers 
were  guilty,  they  will  crush  them,  or  else  the  latter, 
now  enlightened, — why  think  them  bereft  of 
reason? — will  not  risk  another  trial  of  strength — 
if  only  we  do  not  push  them  to  the  limit ! " 

Gandolphe  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  went  on:  "How  important  it  is  not  to 
preserve  the  fatal  leaven,  not  to  bring  up  our 
children  in  blind  abhorrence  of  other  children  whose 
only  crime 

He  stopped : 

"Perhaps  this  is  not  the  time  to  think,  in  the 
middle  of  war,  of  the  innocence  into  which  the 
sons  of  our  enemies  will  tomorrow  be  born.  But, 
peace  once  signed,  what  if  nothing  but  hatred  could 
come  out  of  a  conflict  of  such  dimensions !  What 
if,  on  the  other  hand,  when  the  nations  have  found 
in  the  war  an  occasion  for  self-examination,  it 
should  unexpectedly  prove  to  be  but  a  stage — and 
the  bloodiest — towards  the  Universal  Republic! 
Seriously,  I  ask  myself  if  the  nations  have  not  come, 
in  the  heart  of  this  atrocious  struggle,  to  appreciate 
each  other  more?  Take  the  prisoners,  either  on 
our  side  or  on  theirs,  who  fell  into  the  hands  of 
reasonable  and  humane  guards.  Take  those 
stories  they  bring  back,  about  the  quiet  weeks  on 
the  front  lines  and  the  poor  troopers  of  both  sides 
who  arrange  a  sort  of  God's  truce  by  some  well, 
and  exchange  tobacco  or  food — almost  a  recon- 
ciliation in  the  presence  of  their  misery,  which  is 
the  same  for  all !  Nothing  moves  me  more  than 


A  Life  at  Stake 

deeds  like  that,  although  they  did  right  to  stop  the 
proceedings,  as  it  was  likely  to  weaken  the  spirit 
of  the  fighters." 

Once  more  he  interrupted  himself: 

"Let's  put  that  subject  aside,  too.  But  as  man 
to  man,  may  I  not  confess  to  you  that  there  are 
some — Boches,  to  whom  I  can  pay  respect  and 
esteem  even  just  after  the  struggle?  I  shall 
forget  the  things  said  in  the  frenzy  of  carnage, 
things  which  incriminate  both  sides.  I  shall  for- 
get that  Hauptmann  was  a  signatory  to  the  Mani- 
festo, and  continue  to  admire  him  as  the  author  of 
The  Weavers.  B eethoven ,  Schiller,  Wagner,  Nietz- 
sche— you  were  always  my  friends ;  have  you  ever 
ceased  to  be?  You  are  men,  and  I  believe  in  man. 
You  bequeathed  us  beauty.  Beauty  and  goodness 
are  the  same  thing,  and  it  is  through  their  divinity 
that  men  hold  communion  in  you!" 

Jean  rallied  to  the  beautiful  hope  that  shed 
its  light  on  the  time  to  come.  But  were  not  these 
ideas,  he  wondered,  a  chimera  engendered  by  one 
generous  brain?  And  one  day  he  questioned 
Gandolphe  on  the  point : 

"Sergeant,  are  there  many  men  who  think  like 
you?" 

"Millions." 

"Of  what  party?" 

"The  Socialist." 

"Oh,  the  Socialist!"  Jean  repeated,  with  a 
trace  of  scorn. 

Gandolphe  looked  at  him:  "I  see.     You  read 


After  the  War— What?         349 

the  leading  newspapers.  You  are  taken  in  by  the 
poison  which  they  unwearyingly  distil !  This  war 
is  the  failure  of  Socialism,  I  suppose?" 

Darboise  confessed:  "It  couldn't  prevent  it!" 

"The  enemies  of  Socialism  held  the  authority.  " 

"Does  it  really  still  exist?" 

"It  is  the  true  religion  of  today,  the  true 
reconstructive  force ! ' ' 

"Is  it  enough,  in  your  opinion?" 

' '  The  basis  of  it  is  intangible.  But  the  teaching 
of  Karl  Marx  is  irrefutable  in  sound  reason. " 

"Is  it  enough?" 

"I  don't  pretend  that  it  won't  have  to  be 
widened.  I  could  wish  there  were  more  affection 
and  kindness  in  it,  as  I  was  saying.  That  can  be 
added.  It  is  under  that  flag  that  we  shall  make 
our  own  new  conquests.  No  more  sectarians — the 
party  is  open  to  all  of  good-will.  We  shall  appeal 
to  all  men  who  are  capable  of  responding  to  the 
sight  of  human  suffering,  of  surrendering  some- 
thing of  their  pleasures  to  relieve  that  suffering. 
Liberals,  Radicals,  Christians, — there  is  room  for 
all  in  our  ranks." 

"Do  they  not  already  reproach  you  with  being 
disunited?" 

"In  this  hell,  that  is  natural  when  so  much 
vertigo  distorts  individual  vision!  But  observe 
that  in  every  religion  the  efflorescence  of  sects  is  an 
earnest  of  vitality;  and  in  the  end,  all  these  ques- 
tions of  majorities  and  minorities  which  divide  us 
today  are  in  no  way  matters  of  doctrine,  but  only 


350  A  Life  at  Stake 

different  points  of  view  touching  our  attitude  dur- 
ing the  war.  When  it  is  over,  I  believe  our  differ- 
ences will  be  forgotten,  I  believe  there  will  be  an 
early  reunion  of  the  hostile  brothers.  " 

' '  Unified,  then  ? "  said  Jean,  and  one  could  again 
detect  in  his  tone  a  sort  of  mistrust  of  this  other 
mobilisation.  Gandolphe  noticed  it : 

' '  I,  too,  should  prefer  to  take  orders  only  from 
my  conscience.  But  in  our  days,  the  individual, 
though  so  great  a  thing,  is  really  so  little.  I  shall 
cheerfully  give  up  some  of  my  own  independence; 
I  shall  throw  my  energies  into  that  current  where 
alone,  millions  of  times  multiplied,  they  will  have 
the  chance  to  work  the  huge  machine  in  which 
progress  is  slowly  ground  out.  " 

"But  are  you  certain  that  the  ideas  which  are 
personal  and  dear  to  you,  those  which  you  explained 
to  me  just  now,  will  be  adopted  by  your  party?" 

"They  are  in  the  air,  and  we  shall  do  everything 
to  ensure  their  victory.  Discussion  is  free  among 
us,  if  action  is  not  always.  Our  Socialist  cate- 
chism, a  product  of  Reason,  is  made  up  of  plastic 
and  living  matter;  it  is  not  one  of  those  sacro- 
sanct dogmas  which  no  one  may  touch.  " 

"And  your  programme  of  reconstruction,  do 
you  say  it's  ready?" 

"In  its  guiding  principles,  certainly!  We  shall 
experience  some  fumbling  hesitation.  The  pres- 
sure will  not  be  continuous,  but  slow,  and  subject 
to  recoils  in  accordance  with  man's  nature.  We 
may  go  astray,  too ;  but  we're  always  sure  of  finding 


After  the  War— What?        351 

the  road  again  if  the  torch  which  guides  us  is  our 
sincere  attachment  to  Reason  and  Kindness." 

"To  life!" 

"Yes — befriend  it  at  all  costs,  try  to  make  use 
of  all  its  generous  resources,  to  safeguard  it  from 
the  thousand  attempts  of  evil  forces!  The 
struggle  against  all  those  intellectual  and  physical 
miseries  whose  general  name  is  Death 

"Against  War,  then,  before  everything!"  Jean 
murmured,  again  seized  by  his  obsession. 

' '  Certainly !  But  War,  that  sovereign  evil,  is  only 
the  result  of  evils.  Everlasting  peace  would  be  the 
magnificent  confirmation  of  all  the  other  good 
things  with  which  we  want  to  endow  society.  Why 
does  War  exist  ?  Through  the  fault  of  absurd  or  at 
least  imperfect  systems  of  government,  still  raging 
in  Europe;  for  the  peoples,  held  in  leash,  were  very 
far  from  controlling  their  destinies  or  so  much  as 
their  deep  longings.  They  were  in  the  hands  of  blind 
Utopians  or  ambitious  materialists,  who  thought 
only  of  assuaging  their  individual  thirst !  With  the 
nations  enlightened  and  masters  of  themselves,  do 
you  think  War  would  be  possible  ?  We  must  do  all  to 
give  them  that  consciousness  on  which  life  is  condi- 
tional. And  to  begin  with,  we  must  wrestle  with 
the  death-germs  whatever  they  may  be!" 

The  sergeant  enumerated  some  of  them,  though 
too  well  known,  alas! — and,  above  all,  those  which 
corrupt  a  country's  health  and  then  undermine  its 
morality:  consumption,  syphilis,  alcoholism — the 
three-headed  monster ! 


352  A  Life  at  Stake 

"Ah,  alcoholism!"  Jean  sighed. 

That  scourge  of  the  country  was  spreading 
mournfully  since  the  war.  He  quoted  the  case  of 
Mafranc.  There  were  all  the  elements  of  happi- 
ness in  that  home.  The  wife  was  a  good  woman 
and  the  man  was  earning  an  excellent  living;  yet 
hell  was  in  the  house !  Mafranc  had  done  no  work 
for  a  fortnight  and  came  home  drunk  every  night, 
with  threats,  curses,  and  blows.  He  was  far 
gone  in  consumption  and  his  progeny  jeopardised. 
The  four  children  were  sickly  and  backward;  the 
youngest,  a  deaf  mute  from  birth. 

At  that  picture,  Gandolphe  turned  pale:  "And 
to  think  that  it's  like  that  everywhere!  Ah,  the 
Socialist  teaching — is  it  not  here  that  it  would 
have  to  be  rigorously  applied?" 

"Whatisit?" 

"Absolute  prohibition  of  the  sale  of  alcohol  in 
France." 

"But — think  of  the  anger  of  the  trade!  And 
the  Members  of  Parliament !" 

"Quite  so — I  can  forgive  their  hesitation.  It's 
very  nice  to  assume  a  fine  attitude.  But  suppose 
they  were  to  lose  their  seats  over  it,  and  their 
successors  set  up  the  hateful  system  again?  You 
see  how  these  problems  are  connected.  The 
problem  of  electoral  reform  might  seem  secondary; 
on  the  contrary,  it's  of  prime  importance.  Save 
the  representatives  from  the  tyranny  of  the 
publican;  enlarge  the  constituencies;  appeal  for 
votes  for  principles,  not  for  persons,  the  first  time 


After  the  War— What?        353 

the  ballot  came  round.  And  all  the  worse  for  the 
blockheads  whom  the  principles  did  not  interest!" 

"What  a  job,  all  that ! "  said  Jean. 

The  sergeant  was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  though 
really  confronting  it  in  all  its  formidable  com- 
plexity : 

"But  it  will  be  done,  it  will  be  done!" 

He  indicated  in  anticipatory  detail  the  work  of 
the  great  Assembly  of  the  future :  fiscal  measures 
first,  of  bold  innovation ;  then  at  once  the  blossom- 
ing pf  laws  of  public  and  private  health;  the 
encouragement  of  labour  and  the  return  to  the 
land,  depopulation  thwarted,  prostitution  fought, 
the  procurers  of  abortion  hunted  down,  and  sports 
encouraged : 

"Health  and  energy!  You  will  see  France 
splendid  again!" 

"If  there  were  enough  of  you !" 

"How  many  are  there  who  are  getting  their 
forces  ready  in  the  dark,  who  will  be  led  without 
difficulty  into  good  works,  and  ever  more  good 
works!  There  are  some  already  at  it!  The 
municipality  of  this  place  is  Socialist  in  mind  if 
not  in  name.  In  the  middle  of  all  this  trouble, 
their  brave  beginnings  have  been  shown  me. 
They  are  going  to  introduce  me  to  the  mayor; 
an  admirable  man,  they  say, — a  man  of  ideals 
and  of  accomplishment,  and  I  can  see  it  in  his 
work ;  one  of  those  who  will  take  the  lead  and  set 
up  again  the  harmonious  Europe  of  tomorrow!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   WONDERFUL  HOPE 

IT  seemed  great  and  pure  to  Jean,  this  enthusi- 
astic confidence  Gandolphe  had  preserved  in  Life 
and  the  Good  at  a  time  when  Evil  and  Death  ap- 
peared to  have  extended  their  tyranny  finally  over 
the  universe.  Sometimes  the  desire  seized  him  to 
declare  himself  in  his  turn  an  ardent  worker  for  the 
great  cause — as  long  as  he  was  one  of  the  sur- 
vivors !  But  his  conviction  really  remained  abstract 
and  cold,  something  very  far  from  the  magnani- 
mous impetuosity  which  sweeps  away  barriers  and 
destroys  them!  To  expend  oneself  in  action — 
excellent;  but  a  numbness  was  paralysing  him. 

But  it  happened  that  he  began  examining  him- 
self. Amidst  that  benumbedness  that  had  overrun 
his  conscience,  he  found  a  bruised  place.  Andree ! 
The  thought  of  his  wife  arose  and  suggested  a 
permanent  obstacle  to  him.  Noble  as  the  object 
might  be  which  was  proposed  for  his  endeavours, 
unlikely  as  he  felt  it  to  be  that  love  would  ever 
return  and  fill  up  the  void  in  his  soul,  he  would 
never  again  regain  that  serenity  of  mind  which  was 
essential  to  action. 

354 


A  Wonderful  Hope  355 

The  sergeant  saw  this  persistent  melancholy 
clearly  enough,  but  he  was  too  thoughtful  to  scare 
him  away  by  an  imprudent  question,  and  strove 
merely  to  rekindle  the  living  forces  that  were  latent 
in  him.  Their  talks,  one  should  not  forget,  did  not 
always  rise  to  philosophical  dignity;  they  often 
began  and  were  continued  in  a  tone  of  friendly 
playfulness;  and,  like  the  others,  clad  only  in 
bathing-drawers,  they  spent  one  or  two  hours  a 
day  in  races  and  gleeful  struggles  on  the  sands. 

Darboise  frequently,  it  is  true,  pretended 
weariness  in  order  to  get  away  from  the  games, 
the  duty  of  taking  care  of  himself — "with  my 
disease,  you  know!" 

"What  disease?" 

He  confessed  to  Gandolphe  that  he  thought 
himself  consumptive. 

The  sergeant  took  no  rest  till  he  had  taken  him 
to  consult  one  of  his  friends  at  Dunkerque  who  had 
been  a  hospital  house-surgeon,  and  whose  verdict 
was  definite : ' '  Certainly  there  had  been — a  threat ; 
but  there  was  nothing  at  all  now — no  longer  any- 
thing!" 

Indeed  Jean  was  forced  to  admit  that  this  open- 
air  life,  these  long  walks,  these  hasty  baths — noth- 
ing could  be  better  for  him.  He  was  putting  on 
weight,  thebestof  all  signs.  So  that  anxiety  was  dis- 
appearing. But  when  he  thought  of  her  whose  care 
had  already  snatched  him  from  death,  an  expression 
of  distress  came  to  life  again  beneath  his  smile. 


356  A  Life  at  Stake 

They  went  again  together  to  the  d'Estignards. 
This  time,  when  Sylvaine  was  asked  to  sing, 
Gandolphe  boldly  offered  to  accompany  her. 
And  from  the  first  bars,  the  big  fingers  they 
had  thought  so  heavy,  ran  over  the  keys  and 
drew  from  them  the  restrained  and  exquisite 
melody  of  the  Invitation  au  Voyage.  The  beauti- 
ful harp-like  voice  worked  wonders  when  sup- 
ported by  those  modulated  arpeggios.  After 
Duparc,  they  had  Chausson,  Franck,  and  Faure. 
Sylvaine,  enchanted,  opened  the  chest  that  held 
her  music,  and  brought  armfuls  of  the  pieces  she 
had  formerly  learned,  but  which  had  slumbered 
long,  like  abandoned  beauty. 

"Shall  we  try  this  one  too?  What  do  you 
say?" 

So  on  Tuesdays  and  Fridays  it  became  a  custom 
for  our  friends  to  hasten  their  return  from  the 
firing-ground  and  take  the  road  to  the  town,  where 
these  recitals  were  regularly  renewed. 

Though  music  had  but  lately  left  Jean  almost 
indifferent,  he  began  to  find  in  it  a  penetrating  and 
subtle  charm.  Perhaps  it  was  that  the  thrilling 
sensitiveness  of  the  masters  of  today  was  taking 
effect  on  his  less  responsive  spirit.  Certain  con- 
versations with  Gandolphe  opened  a  new  world  to 
him.  There  was  no  end  to  the  other's  fervent 
claims  on  the  subject  of  music:  "One  of  Life's 
chief  blessings ! ' ' 

The  sergeant  added:  "You,  a  painter,  isn't  your 
art  much  to  you  ? ' '  And  he  confessed  one  day  his 


A  Wonderful  Hope  357 

own  radical  incompetence  in  all  matters  of  plastic 
expression — a  gap  which  he  would  have  dearly 
liked  to  fill  up ! 

That  same  evening,  as  they  were  returning 
through  the  fertile  country,  Jean  pointed  to  the 
western  sky,  where  a  prodigious  mass  of  flaming 
cloud  seemed  to  be  assuming  the  shape  of  a  halo, 
and  said :  ' '  To  reproduce  that ! ' ' 

They  chatted,  and  Jean  described  that  stubborn 
dream  of  the  painter — that  he,  transient  little 
worm  as  he  was,  should  perpetuate  if  only  a 
moment  or  a  detail  of  immortal  nature,  and  his 
own  immortality  in  so  doing.  He  talked  to  him 
of  his  chosen  career,  of  his  beginnings,  and  further 
back  still,  of  his  childhood  on  the  shores  of  the 
"Maures,"1  bathed  in  sunshine. 

"I  should  like  to  see — some  of  your  work," 
said  Gandolphe. 

"I  haven't  anything  here. " 

"Why  not  start  it  again?" 

The  wise  advice  took  effect.  After  lunch  next 
day,  Jean  amused  himself  by  sketching  a  portrait 
of  Mortas  in  pencil — a  striking  likeness  and  a 
success.  The  others  hastened  to  demand  their 
portraits;  he  granted  their  wish  and  no  one  was 
jealous. 

He  had  confided  to  the  sergeant  his  liking  for 
landscape,  which  he  had  hardly  indulged  so  far. 
One  morning  he  carried  his  box  of  water-colours 

1  The  Mountains  of  the  Moors,  on  the  Mediterranean  coast, 
between  Hyeres  and  Fr6jus. — TR. 


358  A  Life  at  Stake 

with  him,  and  worked  for  an  hour,  seated  beside 
his  flag. 

It  was  challenging  difficulties  to  attack  that 
immense  subject  of  the  sea  and  the  dunes;  but  his 
craft  triumphed  in  the  atmosphere  with  which  he 
flooded  the  whole  coast,  in  his  skilful  lowering  of 
the  tones.  His  comrades  cried  out  in  admiration, 
and  Gandolphe  said,  "What  you  could  do,  if  you 
liked!" 

A  little  ingenuous  pride  awoke  within  him  and 
warmed  his  heart. 


But  still  this  was  not  enough.  The  sergeant 
well  knew  that  a  large  part  of  that  heart,  exactly 
the  most  sorrowful  part,  was  closed  to  his  solici- 
tude. 

Where  was  the  real  wound  ?  He  had  guessed  it 
long  since.  Jean's  distress  was  evident  whenever 
reference  was  made  to  his  home ;  and  one  day  when 
Madame  d'Estignard  told  Gandolphe  of  the  singu- 
lar conditions  under  which  Andree  had  gone  away, 
they  had  understood  each  other,  deeply  affected 
at  the  discovery  of  this  mysterious  drama. 

More  than  once  Darboise,  under  the  gaze  of  his 
friend  and  in  a  rush  of  childish  willingness,  had 
thought  of  pouring  out  his  heart.  What  held  him 
back  was  a  kind  of  scruple  against  descending 
from  the  serene  heights  to  which  their  discussions 
had  lifted  them,  down  to  that  ticklish  ground  of 
pitiful  humanity,  and  especially  against  the  em- 


A  Wonderful  Hope  359 

barrassment  of  confessing  his  fault  to  this  purest 
of  the  pure. 

If  only  Gandolphe  would  make  the  first  step! 

That  is  just  what  happened. 

One  afternoon,  the  sergeant  led  their  con- 
versation on  to  the  partner  whom  he  had  loved 
and  lost.  Jeanne  was  her  name.  Betrothed  from 
youth,  they  had  married  at  twenty  years  of  age. 
Twenty !  Modestly  he  touched  upon  the  physical 
charm — ' '  So  fresh  and  so  fair ! " — and  all  the  desire 
of  his  youth  flamed  in  the  words. 

He  emphasised  his  eulogy  on  the  moral  side — 
candid,  gentle,  fearless ;  his  intellectual  confidante. 
Assuredly  she  had  given  him  much  of  her  serenity. 

Alas,  at  the  moment  when  their  horizon  was 
widening,  she  was  struck  down  by  meningitis. 
Gandolphe  pictured  to  Jean  his  distress  on  that 
day,  four  years  ago,  when  after  interring  the 
partner  of  his  destiny,  he  found  himself  at  home 
again  with  the  two  little  children 

"Yes,  it's  true;  you  still  had — "  Darboise's 
heart  swelled  at  the  thought  of  his  own,  his  Momo, 
who  was  gett'ng  a  bigger  boy  so  far  from  him; 
and  he  durst  not  put  any  more  questions,  remem- 
bering confusedly  what  Cazenave  had  told  him. 
The  sergeant  went  on  in  a  hollow  voice: 

"You  know  what  happened.  I  joined  up  on 
August  4th,  having  entrusted  them  to  my  mother- 
in-law  who  lived  at  Valenciennes.  When  the  Ger- 
mans arrived  she  died  of  shock  to  the  heart. " 

"And  they— they ?" 


360  A  Life  at  Stake 

"No  news — for  a  long  time — and  then  it  was 
only  by  a  roundabout  way  I  learned  at  last — taken 
away  into  Germany,  I  heard  it  said — ill  cared  for 
— they  died — one  a  few  weeks  after  the  other. " 

His  head  dropped.  Jean  was  silent,  and  other 
things  he  knew  came  back  to  his  mind — Gan- 
dolphe's  house  at  Arras,  destroyed  with  everything 
in  it,  his  family  souvenirs,  his  papers,  notes,  and 
manuscripts.  He  who  never  ceased  to  glorify  the 
grandeur  and  beauty  of  life,  he  it  was  who  had 
plumbed  the  depths  of  human  misery ! 

The  sergeant  explained  quietly  how  he  had  but 
lately  rallied  again,  through  his  desire  for  reaction, 
of  wrestling  with  the  suffering  all  round  him.  His 
own  grief,  which  never  left  him,  inspired  him  with 
immense  pity  for  all  other  wounded  hearts. 

"Alone  for  always,  now?"  Jean  said  to  him, 
overwhelmed  by  the  sense  of  his  own  isolation. 

Then  Gandolphe  hinted  that — if  he  had  found — 
if  he  should  find,  another — a  second  comrade — to 
help  him  in  his  task —  That,  indeed,  was  Jeanne's 
advice,  with  her  last  words. 

That  evening,  as  Jean  was  thinking  over  their 
conversation  he  said  to  himself:  "Do  I  know  a 
woman  who  would  like  to  be  happy?"  And  the 
following  Tuesday,  at  Malo,  his  eyes  fell  on  his 
friend  just  as  he  was  taking  some  music  from 
Sylvaine's  hands.  The  awkwardness  of  his  bear- 
ing and  the  timid  light  in  his  eyes  were  a  sudden 
revelation  to  Jean :  Was  Gandolphe  in  love? 

Instantly,  many  a  supporting  fact  occurred  to 


A  Wonderful  Hope  361 

Jean's  mind,  as  well  as  Gandolphe's  anxious 
obstinacy  in  the  matter  of  being  introduced  into 
Primrose  Villa. 

Alas!  Would  it  not  have  been  better  for  him 
had  he  never  crossed  the  threshold  ?  A  university 
man,  but  without  a  future;  a  widower,  and  he 
would  never  see  forty  again.  No  doubt  some 
other  husband  was  in  view  for  the  captivating 
heiress.  And  Jean  remembered,  too,  all  that 
sorrowful  idyll  of  the  fiance  killed  in  action,  and 
the  disconsolateness  of  the  innocent  heart. 

All  the  same,  curiosity  and  benevolence  stimu- 
lated Darboise.  One  day  when  he  reached  Malo 
before  his  companion,  he  boldly  launched  into 
eulogy  of  the  sergeant — a  fine  soul,  a  generous 
heart,  and  perhaps  the  most  broad-minded  intelli- 
gence he  had  known.  Neither  did  Jean  disguise 
what  he  owed  to  him. 

M.  d'Estignard  agreed.  Madame  also  seemed 
to  approve  of  the  panegyric.  But  she  could  not 
help  making  some  slight  criticisms.  What  was  it 
that  the  excellent  fellow  lacked?  Nothing  but 
certain — refinements.  It  is  at  table  that  one 
judges  a  man,  and  when  he  came  to  lunch  the  other 
day,  she  watched  him.  What  a  pity  it  was  that 
"he  used  his  knife  to  cut  his  fish  up,  and  put  his 
bread  into  his  gravy  with  his  fingers!" 

"Those  are  little  matters!"  Sylvaine  inter- 
posed,— she  had  been  silent  till  then.  Didn't 
they  think  he  would  get  out  of  them? 

Jean  made  a  note  of  her  words,  and  as  he  looked 


362  A  Life  at  Stake 

at  her,  hope  began  to  dawn  in  him.  Was  he 
wrong  ?  That  alliance  which  had  seemed  impossi- 
ble to  him — ah,  his  resolve  to  return  the  good  he 
had  received !  He  chose  the  first  pretext  he  could 
to  let  the  sergeant  know  of  the  way  his  praises 
had  been  sung,  and  Gandolphe  seemed  secretly 
affected.  Darboise  went  further  and  hinted  with 
brotherly  tact  that  if  he  could  contrive  to  rid 
himself  of  a  few  tiny — blemishes 

Gandolphe  blushed:  "A  rustic!  I'm  only  a 
rustic!" 

' '  You're  an  admirable  chap ! ' ' 

How  near  they  were  drawing  together! — And 
the  last  step  was  not  to  be  long  in  coming. 


It  was  now  mid-September.  Gandolphe  heard 
from  the  Bureau  that  Darboise' s  leave  was  coming 
along. 

"I  shan't  take  it, "  said  Jean. 

"Now  then!     Won't  you  go  home?" 

"No,  no —  Darboise  cleared  his  throat,  and 
then  said : 

"You  know — or  perhaps  you  don't  know — that 
my  wife 

"Well?" 

"It's  all  ended — between  us ' 

In  his  turn,  now,  Jean  delivered  himself  up. 
In  one  breath  he  related  his  fault,  his  instant 
sorrow,  the  anxieties  which  followed,  and  the 
thundering  blow  of  the  separation. 


A  Wonderful  Hope  363 

As  he  finished,  he  asked:  "What  do  you  say  of 
my  position  ? ' ' 

"I  say — that  there's  one — still  worse. " 

"Whose?" 

"The  other's;  your— friend,  at  St.  Pol." 

"Germaine?" 

"What's  become  of  her?" 

Darboise  felt  vaguely  ashamed  as  he  admitted 
that  she  had  disappeared  from  his  life.  Anyway, 
she  was  the  cause  of  it,  after  all ! 

The  sergeant  looked  at  Jean :  ' '  When  you  think 
of  her,  have  you  no  pity  or  remorse?" 

"Yes,  yes." 

It  is  true  that  Jean,  looking  again  into  his  heart, 
was  touched  to  the  quick  by  the  memory  recalled 
of  the  unhappy  woman  whose  only  fault  in  his 
regard  was  that  she  had  yielded  to  him  and  loved 
him  too  much.  Aloud  he  confessed  that  her 
circumstances,  too 

"She  is  the  most  to  be  pitied,"  Gandolphe 
went  on;  "didn't  she  try  to  commit  suicide?" 

On  the  other  hand,  he  thought  that  a  satis- 
factory outcome  of  the  relations  between  Jean 
and  Andree  was  possible:  "A  woman  forgives." 

But  Jean  recalled  his  wife's  resolute  words,  and 
how  her  actions  had  borne  them  out. 

' '  Nonsense ! — in  such  times  as  these !  And  when 
she  well  knows  how  much  you  love  her,  and  when 
she  loves  you — 

"Does  she  love  me  enough?" 

All  Jean  asked  was  for  some  hope  to  embrace. 


364  A  Life  at  Stake 

Rallying  to  Gandolphe's  views,  he  besought  him  to 
find  out  what  was  happening  to  Germaine. 

At  the  end  of  two  days,  the  sergeant  brought  his 
first  news.  There  had  been  a  quarrel  at  the 
Trousseliers  and  a  complete  break.  The  old 
woman  now  left  her  flat  only  to  go  errands  in  the 
neighbourhood,  where  she  poured  out  disparaging 
reflections  on  her  daughter-in-law.  The  young 
woman  shut  herself  up  with  the  children  on  the 
ground  floor  and  was  hardly  ever  seen. 

But  when  Gandolphe  hastened  to  find  Darboise  at 
the  school  one  evening  after  nine  o'clock  in  the  fol- 
lowing week,  his  news  was  still  worse.  Trousselier, 
the  husband,  had  been  wounded  by  the  explosion  of 
a  mine,  badly  wounded  in  the  face,  and  report  said 
that  he  was  blinded.  Something  else,  too — the  ser- 
geant had  got  it  all  from  Madame  the  pork-butcher. 
The  man  had  had  a  letter  written  for  him  in  the 
hospital  at  Toulouse  in  which  he  asked  for — his 
mother,  and  abused  his  wife  with  horrible  curses. 

"Told,  evidently,  and  you  can  guess  who  told 
him?  The  old  woman,  and  by  the  bye,  she's 
getting  ready  to  go  to  him.  They  tell  me  she's 
just  written  a  request  for  a  free  railway  pass. " 

In  consternation,  seeing  his  own  responsibility 
rising  in  front  of  him,  Jean  said: 

"What  can  be  done?" 

"We  must  take  action. " 

"How?" 

"First,  prevent  the  old  woman  from  going 
down  yonder  to  inflame  him. " 


A  Wonderful  Hope  365 

"Is  there  a  way?" 

"I  might  try  to  see  her  and  dissuade  her!" 

The  sergeant  duly  repaired  to  the  Rue  Jeanne 
d'Arc,  but  reappeared  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
later  to  report  what  a  reception  he  had  had ! 

The  termagant  had  shown  him  the  door,  and  no 
mistake  about  it.  She  shouted  at  him:  "Clear 
out  of  here!  You're  his  pal — I  know  you — I've 
seen  you  out  walking  together — it's  no  good — my 
lad  shall  know  all  that's  gone  on  in  his  house — 
and  he'll  make  that  young  fellow  pay  for  it,  the 
blackguard ! " 

Jean's  face  went  white:   "As  bad  as  that?" 

"I  was  forced  to  clear — the  neighbours  were 
poking  their  noses  out  of  the  windows. " 

"And  she — Germaine?  You  couldn't  get  to 
her?" 

"Yes — I  went  again,  and  knocked  on  the 
ground-floor  shutter.  It  opened,  and  I  was 
able  to  get  a  few  words  in." 

"What  did  you  say  to  her?" 

"That  it  was  she — who  must  go  to  Toulouse — 
the  only  way  to  ward  off  the  tragedy!" 

"But  if  her  mother-in-law — is  going?" 
*    "It's    just    that    journey    that's    got    to    be 
thwarted." 

The  sergeant  set  forth  his  plan,  which  was  to 
take  advantage  of  Lavigne's  connections — he  had 
been  on  cordial  terms  with  Lavigne  for  some  time 
now — and  his  functions  at  the  railway  station. 

•Til  look  after  all  that." 


366  A  Life  at  Stake 

The  next  evening  he  came  to  Darboise  again 
with  a  railway  permit  in  the  name  of  "Madame 
Trousselier. "  The  young  woman  would  take  her 
mother-in-law's  place,  and  nobody  would  notice 
it.  Then  he  said  to  Jean,  "Come  with  me. " 

Darboise  followed  him,  his  heart  beating  fast. 

Germaine!  When  he  saw  her,  he  hardly  knew 
her.  She  was  much  thinner,  wasted,  and  pale; 
and  she  wore  that  close  dark  shawl  as  on  the  night 
when  he  had  driven  her  away.  She  did  not  look 
him  in  the  face,  and  pretended  to  be  speaking  only 
to  Gandolphe.  And  she  spoke  too  fast,  her 
emotion  betraying  her.  Obstinately  she  repeated 
her  wish  not  to  live  any  longer,  not  to  await  the 
other's  return. 

Gandolphe  spoke  next,  relieving  Jean  of  a  pain- 
ful weight.  He  strove  to  appeal  to  her  and  rouse 
her.  Let  a  veil  be  thrown  over  the  past.  He 
made  no  allusion  to  their  guilt,  but  only  to  their 
double  adversity,  which  must  be  put  right.  In 
both  cases,  it  was  not  they  only  who  were  in 
question — there  were  innocent  children  whose 
homes  these  sorrows  were  breaking  up. 

Germaine's  head  sank.     At  last  she  said : 

"But  then— what  ought  I  to  do?" 

Gandolphe  gave  his  opinion.  She  must  take 
the  lead  and  hasten  to  her  husband's  bedside, 
where  he  lay  wounded  and  in  pain.  It  was  her 
truest  task  to  comfort  him,  and  the  only  way  of 
defending  herself. 

He  handed   the   travel   permit    to   her.     The 


A  Wonderful  Hope  367 

suggestion  obviously  took  her  unawares.  In 
perplexity  her  lips  parted  to  speak,  but  closed 
again.  There  appeared  reason  to  fear  that  she 
would  fly  from  a  solution  which  on  her  part  would 
necessitate  an  almost  heroic  tension  of  the  nerves. 
Then  Jean,  who  so  far  had  hesitated  to  interpose, 
said: 

"You  must  do  that,  Germaine. " 

When  she  heard  her  Christian  name,  uttered 
with  a  sort  of  tenderness  by  the  loved  voice  she 
had  not  thought  to  hear  again,  she  began  to  cry: 

"You — have  you  no  more  grudge  against  me, 
then?" 

After  what  had  happened,  that  there  should 
still  be  no  malice  in  her!  He  assured  her  that  he 
retained  feelings  of  fond  and  tenacious  friendship 
for  her. 

"And  you1  want — do  you1  want — me  to  go?" 

"  It  would  be  best. " 

"When  I  come  back — I  shall  see  you  again?" 

Jean  hesitated. 

"Yes,"  said  Gandolphe,  feeling  that  there  was 
no  danger  in  the  undertaking. 

Germaine  was  persuaded.  Obediently  she  went 
to  the  Prefecture  to  get  her  permit;  and  before 
setting  off  she  instructed  little  Desir6,  as  she  put 
him  to  bed  that  he  must  wait  till  tomorrow 
before  he  gave  this  note  to  his  grandmother, — 
and  the  child's  eyes  closed. 

1  Impossible — alas ! — to  express  in  English  the  pretty  play  which 
the  French  novelist  can  introduce  between  tu  and  tons. — TK. 


368  A  Life  at  Stake 

As  they  were  returning  from  seeing  her  off  at 
the  station,  Gandolphe  touched  Jean's  shoulder 
and  said  with  a  happy  smile : 

"One  good  point  scored  already!" 

"One  only!" 

"There'll  be  more  to  follow."  The  sergeant 
added:  "Listen,  Darboise.  In  five  days  from 
now,  Tm  going  on  leave.  /  shall  go  and  see  your 
wife.  I  shall  argue  with  her.  What  would  you 
say  if  I  brought  her  back  to  you?" 

"Oh,  if  it  were  possible — !"  said  Jean. 

"Well?" 

"It  would  bring  you  good  luck — in  what  you 
want!" 

"I?  What  I  want?"  Gandolphe  murmured, 
as  he  took  off  his  eyeglasses  and  began  to  polish 
them : ' '  You  know  what  I  wish  for  ? ' ' 

"And  I  wish  it  as  much  as  you. " 

No  other  word  was  said.  But  they  walked  with 
a  more  confident  step,  and  each  of  them  felt 
his  wonderful  hope  strengthened  by  his  friend's 
approving  desire. 


BOOK  IX 
CHAPTER  I 

A  FRIENDLY  MISSION 

How  he  missed  Gandolphe,  who  had  been  on 
leave  now  for  three  days,  and  would  be  still  five 
more!  Darboise  realised  the  place  the  sergeant 
had  taken  in  his  life.  Then,  too,  when  he  went 
away,  he  had  taken  two  addresses  with  him  and 
declared  his  intention  of  making  a  great  effort  in 
the  matter  of  Andree.  Now  that  he  had  seen  him 
start  on  that  errand,  Jean  was  filled  again  with 
immense  hope. 

Depussay,  who  had  taken  Gandolphe's  place  in 
command  of  the  "  fatigue,"  had  seen  fit  to  remove 
Dubar,  Poitu,  and  Couvret,  to  the  advantage  of 
three  of  his  own  men.  And  these  three  he  had 
placed  in  the  best  "posts,"  shamelessly  dispatch- 
ing old  Pincivy,  who  had  varicose  veins,  to  Post  8, 
the  farthest. 

After  the  first  day,  Darboise  offered  to  change 
places  with  Pincivy,  which  he  gladly  agreed  to, 
as  his  poor  legs  were  swelling.  The  example  had 
good  results.  One  of  the  newcomers,  Doguet, 

24  369 


370  A  Life  at  Stake 

gave  up  his  place  for  Leduc's,  No.  7,  the  latter 
finding  the  long  distance  too  much  for  him. 

Darboise  quickly  made  himself  comfortable  in 
his  remote  sentry-go  among  the  dunes.  It  did 
not  happen  three  times  a  day  that  he  had  to  run 
after  some  fisherman,  wandering  into  the  zone  of 
danger.  He  sat  on  the  warm  sand,  weighing 
hopes  whose  realisation  he  yielded  to  fate. 

Perhaps,  when  Gandolphe  came  back — !  Jean 
repeated  his  words — "If  I  brought  her  back  to 
you — "  and  his  heart  beat  high  with  hope.  But  if 
the  attempt  failed?  Ah,  the  blackest  resolutions 
were  ready  to  assail  him  again ! 

Sometimes  he  went  as  far  as  his  neighbour,  good 
Doguet.  Plump  and  shaggy,  with  the  eyes  of  a 
spaniel,  the  man  was  of  the  race  of  the  simple  and 
confiding.  He  had  lost  his  wife  in  the  first  months 
of  the  war.  He  did  not  dwell  on  the  grief  that 
her  death  had  caused  him.  The  chief  thing,  he 
said,  was  that  his  three  babies  were  orphans.  It 
was  not  that  the  future  troubled  him  much.  If 
he  escaped  from  the  war,  and  it  seemed  to  be  going 
that  way,  he  could  always  get  out  of  difficulties, 
with  that  good  farm  of  his  that  the  sun  shone  on. 
But  the  present!  Impossible,  wasn't  it,  to  send 
for  the  kiddies  to  St.  Pol.  They  had  been  taken 
in  by  their  aunt,  and  it  was  bad  luck  that  he  was 
just  jangling  with  her  about  matters  of  inheritance, 
and  they  couldn't  agree,  and  the  children  were  not 
looked  after  properly.  Although  he  paid  her 
fifty  francs  a  month  the  woman  was  always 


A  Friendly  Mission  371 

threatening  to  hand  them  over  to  the  Board  of 
Guardians. 

"That'd  be  a  rare  bother  to  me!"  Doguet  con- 
cluded, with  an  anxious  air. 

At  the  price  of  a  few  kindly  words,  Darboise 
quickly  established  himself  as  a  friend.  The  good 
fellow  went  easily  on  to  other  confidences:  "At 
forty-two  years,  sonny,  I  don't  yet  find  myself 
quite  worn  out." 

"Well — you  must  marry  again,  old  chap!" 
' '  I  don't  say  no ;  but  chance  is  a  fine  thing ! ' ' 
The  excellent  Doguet  added:  "A  widow,  too, 
we'll  suppose,  and  she  might  have  some  kiddies, — 
I  wouldn't  care  a  damn!     All  the  lot  could  grow 
up  pell-mell !" 

"And  you'd  have  others,  still!"  said  Jean, 
chaffingly. 


A  letter  from  Gandolphe.  Jean  opened  it 
trembling.  Did  it  bring  him  news?  No.  The 
sergeant  had  found  the  house  shut  up  in  the  Rue 
de  Vaugirard — "the  ladies  were  always  in  the 
country."  He  was  arranging  for  Friday,  his  last 
day  but  one,  when  he  pounted  on  getting  as  far  as 
Sceaux.  The  incomparable  friend ! 

That  evening,  being  free  in  good  time,  Jean 
betook  himself  to  his  cousins,  where  he  found  M. 
d'Estignard  alone.  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour's 
talk,  Darboise  got  up,  but  his  host  stopped  him : 


372  A  Life  at  Stake 

"There's  no  hurry.  I  don't  often  get  the  chance 
of  a  chat  with  you." 

Jean  sat  down  again.  Shaking  the  ash  off  his 
cigar,  the  old  man  went  on : 

"Have  you  read  Briand's  speech  on  'Impossible 
Peace'?" 

"Yes— alas!" 

1 '  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"I  don't  allow  myself — to  have  an  opinion  on 
that  subject." 

Darboise  now  made  Gandolphe's  theory  his 
own — only  a  few  men,  placed  at  the  wheel  of  gov- 
ernment, could  know  whither  they  were  leading 
the  country.  We  must  trust  them ! 

M.  d'Estignard  sighed : 

"Yes,  to  you  who  are  young,  that  patience  and 
strength  come  easier  than  to  us.  We  others,  in 
face  of  this  catastrophe  which  threatens  to  destroy 
all  we  have  built  up,  feel  that  we  shall  not  have 
the  time  to  build  again ! " 

The  old  man  confessed  his  troubles.  They  were 
financial  to  begin  with,  and  Jean  could  not  have 
believed  them  so  serious.  Almost  their  entire  fort- 
une was  invested  in  South  American  stocks,  and 
they  had  mostly  ceased  to  pay  dividends.  It  was 
necessary  to  sell  out  and  realise — at  what  a  loss ! 

"And  that  is  not  our  only  anxiety!"  he  went 
on.  His  son,  the  little  assistant  surgeon,  never  got 
away  from  the  worst  parts  of  the  Somme.  Three 
of  his  orderlies  had  been  struck  down  at  his  side 
a  few  days  ago. 


A  Friendly  Mission  373 

"And  my  daughter 

His  accent  became  hesitant.  Certainly,  with 
her  beauty  and  the  dowry  which  had  lately  been 
set  apart  for  her,  there  would  be  no  lack  of  aspir- 
ants for  her  hand.  She  was  rightly  critical,  and 
how  many  had  she  refused?  Her  parents  put  no 
pressure  whatever  on  her.  The  young  heart 
would  awake  in  the  end.  (The  father  thought  he 
was  telling  Jean  something  he  did  not  know.) 
Since  her  misfortune,  they  had  not  dared  to  speak 
to  her  about  any  one.  Now  she  was  nearly  twenty- 
five.  Their  own  position  had  much  altered ;  and, 
alas,  how  they  were  stripping  the  country  of  the 
men  who  might  have  been  husbands  for  the  girls 
of  that  age ! 

"But  she  herself, — how  does  she  seem  to  be  dis- 
posed about  it?"  Jean  ventured  to  ask. 

"I  don't  know.  I  have  just  an  impression 
that  if — a  good  lad  turned  up,  following  some 
respectable  profession ' 

One  might  guess  to  whom  Darboise's  thoughts 
went.  What  a  prospect  opened  out  before  him 
when,  a  few  minutes  later,  M.  d'Estignard,  rather 
awkwardly,  led  the  talk  on  to  Gandolphe! 

"He's  not — a  Fellow  of  his  university,  is  he?" 

"The  degree  will  be  conferred,  the  day  after  the 
war,  no  doubt,  on  those  who  like  him  have  been 
several  times  admissible." 

Jean  gave  some  details  of  the  sum,  already  re- 
spectable, of  a  professor's  emoluments  with  the 
almost  certain  addition  of  teaching  fees. 


374  A  Life  at  Stake 

There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  and  the  door 
opened;  the  ladies  had  returned. 

"Our  cousin,  who's  been  lost  to  sight!" 
It  was  still  the  same  affectionate  welcome  to 
which  he  responded.  They  made  him  stay  some 
time,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  adroitly  introduced 
Gandolphe's  name,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  see- 
ing their  faces  brighten.  Madame  d'Estignard 
had  received  a  respectful  note  from  Paris  in 
which  the  sergeant  informed  her  that  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  hunting  down  the  almost  unprocur- 
able music  they  had  asked  him  to  buy  for  them. 
Everyone  praised  his  willingness  and  ability;  and 
what  struck  Jean  this  time  was  the  absence  of 
even  the  minute  criticisms  of  the  other  day.  Were 
the  merits  of  this  aspirant  already  being  domesti- 
cally weighed?  Only  one  thing  disconcerted  Dar- 
boise — the  absolute  freedom  of  mind  which  the 
girl  displayed,  the  playfulness  with  which  she  de- 
plored the  absence  of  her  accompanist : 

' '  My  piano  has  nothing  to  say  to  me  now ! ' ' 
Was  that  not  at  least  a  sign  of  indifference? 
Jean  thought  of  his  friend's  enchantment  when  he 
was  told,  as  he  would  be  soon,  what  she  had  said. 
And  he  himself,   what  news  had  he  brought 
them  ?     But  was  not  all  this  too  beautiful  ? 


The  mistrustful  thought  was  too  well  justified. 
Three  days  went  by  without  a  letter  from  the 


A  Friendly  Mission  375 

sergeant.  All  through  Friday  evening  Darboise 
hoped  for  a  telegram,  but  it  did  not  come.  Was 
Gandolphe  keeping  the  answer  back  so  as  to  bring 
it  himself?  No,  he  would  not  have  delayed  his 
friend's  happiness  by  an  hour. 

And  so  on  Monday  evening,  when  Jean  saw 
him — saw  that  his  smile  was  a  little  forced — he 
understood 

"She  would  not  see  you  then?" 

The  sergeant  took  his  arm  and  led  him  away.  He 
was  frank,  as  he  had  to  be.  He  told  Jean  how  he 
had  taken  the  train  to  Denf  ert-Rochereau.  In  the 
street  to  which  an  urchin  directed  him  he  found  the 
house,  buried  in  ivy.  A  maid  opened  the  door  and 
informed  him  that  the  ladies  had  gone  out.  Would 
they  be  back  soon?  Certainly.  He  would  call 
again.  But — the  alarm  had  been  given.  It  was 
a  mistake  he  acknowledged,  not  to  have  thought 
of  concealing  the  number  on  his  badge. 

"Did  the  maid  look  at  it?" 

"I'm  afraid  so." 

"A  dark  woman,  was  she?" 

"Yes,  rather  sturdily  built." 

' '  She's  the  mere  tool  of  my  mother-in-law ! " 

' '  When  I  went  back,  she  told  me  that  Madame 
Darboise  was  poorly,  and  would  I  call  again  an- 
other day?" 

"Did  you  insist?" 

"I  sent  her  back  to  her  mistress  to  say  that  my 
leave  was  up  and  I  was  going  back,  and  my  message 
was  urgent." 


376  A  Life  at  Stake 

"No  answer?" 

"Only  this — that  madame  begged  to  be  ex- 
cused." 

Jean  was  sufficiently  master  of  himself  to  refrain 
from  the  slightest  reproach.  He  only  rubbed  his 
hands  together,  and  said  ironically : 

"What  did  I  tell  you?" 

"All  isn't  lost!" 

"For  goodness'  sake,  don't  treat  me  like  a  child. 
There's  my  wife  leaves  me  suddenly,  without  a 
word  of  explanation,  returns  me  her  wedding-ring, 
refuses  to  see  the  man  she  thinks  I  have  sent — " 
He  had  the  unkindness  to  add :  "  I  almost — regret 
your  overtures."  But  immediately:  "My  dear 
boy,  I  well  know  your  brotherly  intent — but  I 
was  sure  of  the  result.  She's  in  the  power  of  the 
grandmother,  who  never  liked  me.  I  expect  they 
stir  each  other  up ! " 

The  thought  seemed  to  irritate  him.  "What 
I  can't  permit,  is  this  way  of  leaving  me  without 
news  of  my  child!" 

Gandolphe  still  urged  him  to  have  courage. 
Darboise's  smile  was  distressing  as  he  said: 

"Oh,  I'm  cured — that's  agreed!  You  needn't 
fear  any  more  that  I  shall — do  anything  daft!" 

Even  as  he  said  the  words,  such  a  flavour  of 
bitterness  rose  again  to  his  lips  that  he  almost 
wished  once  more  to  take  the  plunge  into  space. 

The  sergeant  sounded  him,  a  moment  later,  to 
find  out  if  he  had  been  back  to  Malo. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "once  or  twice."     It  was  an 


A  Friendly  Mission  377 

unconfessable  feeling,  that  repugnance  to  open  for 
his  friend  the  prospect  which  had  just  faded  for 
himself.  Another  day — tomorrow,  say ! 

But  he  was  silent  the  next  day,  too. 

Here,  now,  were  orders  that  a  "transit  fatigue" 
should  be  formed,  on  a  par  with  the  regular 
fatigue  of  the  Textile;  and  fifty  men  were  required 
for  it.  Which  N.  C.  O.  would  lead  them?  It 
hardly  looked  a  desirable  position,  as  there  were 
always  things  to  be  on  one's  guard  against  when 
putting  a  new  service  on  its  feet. 

Two  days  after  his  return,  it  was  announced  to 
Gandolphe  that  the  mischance  was  falling  on  him ; 
Depussay  was  taking  his  place  at  the  firing-ground. 
Fauvel  had  thus  arranged  it. 

The  sergeant  was  resigned  to  it — what  else  could 
he  be?  "It's  we  who  will  suffer,"  Darboise  said 
to  him. 

"Then  ask  if  you  can  come  to  the  'transit' 
with  me!" 

Jean  seemed  to  be  turning  it  over.  He  should 
be  sorry  to  leave  the  delicious  idleness  they  enjoyed 
on  the  dunes.  Gandolphe  correctly  guessed  the 
reasons  for  his  hesitation,  but  did  not  fear  to  insist : 
"I  should  be  glad  to  have  you.  You'll  do  it  for 
me?" 

Darboise  went  red.  ' '  If  you  think  the  adjutant 
will  allow  me?" 

Monade  made  no  opposition.  There  were 
plenty  of  civilians  available  for  the  "firing 
fatigue,"  since  it  was  a  "cushy"  job. 


378  A  Life  at  Stake 

Jean  would  have  been  ashamed  had  he  avoided 
the  new  fatigue,  for  all  the  former  members  of  the 
little  group,  Gautier  Charles  at  their  head,  went 
to  the  sergeant  and  pressed  their  wish  to  follow 
him  in  his  new  destiny. 

So  they  went  over  solidly  to  the  "transit." 
Darboise  met  old  Doguet:  "And  you, — aren't 
you  coming  with  us?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "unless  it's  for  the 
sake  of  staying  among  pals." 

And  that  evening  he  made  the  same  overtures, 
which  were  crowned  with  the  same  success. 


CHAPTER  II 

NEW   CONDITIONS 

BEFORE  leading  them  to  the  Port,  Gandolphe 
had  gathered  his  trusty  men  together: 

"It's  understood,  eh,  that  you're  going  to  set  a 
good  example?" 

"Of  course!" 

Their  willingness  was  obvious.  Questions  were 
asked  of  the  sergeant.  What  did  he  know  about 
the  job  ? 

"Very  little;  but  this  at  least,  that  we  shan't 
have  Dubus  on  the  top  of  us.  The  'transit'  has 
been  put  under  the  direction  of  Chasles,  the  little 
attache  with  the  fair  moustache,  you  know;  they 
say  he's  quite  all  right — 

"Though  he's  never  been  to  the  front!"  said 
Gautier  Charles,  with  a  little  grimace. 

Gandolphe  overheard  the  remark : 

"Are  you  certain  of  it?  Is  it  his  fault ?  Don't 
blame  him  for  being  alive!" 

Contrary  to  their  hopes,  the  beginning  was 
thankless  enough.  Just  the  same  as  the  men  of 
the  Textile,  they  had  to  be  at  work  on  the  stroke 
of  six  o'clock.  And  the  aggravating  part  of  it 

379 


380  A  Life  at  Stake 

was  that  for  want  of  available  waggons,  a  good 
hour  had  first  of  all  to  be  wasted,  while  they  sat 
and  shivered  idly  in  the  chilly  dawns  of  the  end  of 
September. 

Corporal  Quentin,  of  the  Section,  the  chief  ruler 
of  the  Yard,  did  not  turn  up  till  past  seven.  The 
man  was  rather  disagreeable,  slow,  exacting,  and 
sly.  He  contented  himself  with  giving  a  few 
brief  hints  in  an  indolent  tone  to  the  non-coms, 
of  the  fatigue.  They  must  get  out  of  their  own 
difficulties,  and  they  must  not  mind  spying  on  the 
men  and  reporting  them,  if  the  work  was  hanging 
fire. 

And  from  the  first  day  there  were  disputes  of 
command  between  the  sergeant  and  himself. 

Quentin  ordered  the  whole  team  one  morning 
on  board  a  vessel  that  was  discharging  her  cargo,  a 
task  which  had  been  reserved  for  civilians  because 
of  the  risks  it  involved,  such  as  descending  into  the 
hold  by  vertical  ladders  with  narrow  and  slippery- 
rungs. 

The  old  man  jibbed.  Good  old  Doguet,  with 
one  foot  in  space,  cried  off,  pleading  dizziness. 
Gandolphe  interposed,  protesting  against  this 
breach  of  the  regulations.  Quentin  had  to  give 
way,  and  the  sergeant  led  his  men  back  in  triumph 
to  their  usual  work,  which  was  nothing  if  not 
painful. 

Sometimes  they  had  to  lift,  carry,  and  load  the 
sheets  of  corrugated  iron,  flat  or  curved,  whose 
ragged  edges  grazed  their  unaccustomed  hands; 


New  Conditions  381 

sometimes  coils  of  wire,  bales  of  gas-masks  and 
bandages,  or  cases  of  cartridges,  often  bordering 
on  half  a  ton  weight,  which  ten  or  twelve  men  did 
not  find  themselves  too  many  to  lift  on  to  the 
trolleys.  In  all  weathers  three  great  cranes  were 
diving  for  these  materials  into  the  bowels  of  English 
steamers — the  Baron  Humphrey,  the  Dartmoor, 
the  Gloucester  Castle,  which  followed  each  other 
to  the  quay.  The  duty  of  the  civilian  dockers 
ended  with  bringing  them  ashore,  under  tarpaulins. 
Secret  hostility  prevailed  between  them  and  the 
soldiers,  who  had  to  take  charge  of  them  and  get 
them  into  the  waggons  that  were  waiting  on  the 
rails  sometimes  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  The 
waggons  were  often  the  wrong  sort  for  the  use 
expected  of  them,  and  it  happened  that  they  found 
themselves  forced  to  empty  again  some  which  they 
had  just  loaded  up  to  ten  tons ;  for  their  sides  being 
inadequate,  the  railway  people  would  have  refused 
them.  Obstructions  followed  on  the  platforms. 
Then  the  civilians  accused  the  military  of  skulking, 
and  Corporal  Quentin  frowned  and  congealed  into 
icy  dissatisfaction. 

Nothing  could  be  more  discouraging  to  those 
men  who  had  really  made  serious  efforts.  But 
all  in  the  fatigue  were  not  of  good  and  steadfast 
mind.  They  included  hotheads,  some  of  the 
former  members  of  the ' '  coffee  fatigue ' '-  — Thuillier, 
and  Languenac,  by  whom  Gautier  Charles  was 
fascinated.  A  clique  was  formed  again,  which 
made  overtures  to  Jean. 


382  A  Life  at  Stake 

He  opposed  them;  but  once  when  the  sergeant 
was  on  rest,  he  yielded  to  the  temptation  to  file 
off  after  the  others.  Decante,  dodging  the  "coal 
fatigue,"  rejoined  them,  and  at  once  the  "Go-easy 
Brigade"  was  reformed  almost  in  completeness. 
And  Corporal  Valentin  did  not  miss  the  chance 
of  denouncing  Darboise  to  Quentin,  who  grumbled : 
"Yes,  yes,  I've  already  noticed  that  little  gentle- 
man." 

"He's  the  sergeant's  pet,  you  know!" 

The  attache,  Chasles,  who  was  rarely  seen  in  the 
ordinary  way,  came  round  twice  that  day: 

"Not  getting  on  with  it,  Quentin?" 

"Can't  be  helped,  lieutenant,  with  that  team!" 

"Where's  the  sergeant?" 

"God  knows!" 

Gandolphe  was  sent  for  the  next  day,  and  had 
to  submit  to  protests.  Really,  his  men  were  not 
up  to  the  mark.  If  that  went  on,  the  attache 
would  be  obliged  to  make  a  complaint. 

With  emotion  the  sergeant  asked  the  attache's 
leave  to  make  a  few  remarks  in  his  turn.  Boldly 
he  pointed  out  that  one  of  the  little  things  which 
he  admitted  might  injuriously  affect  his  men  was 
just  that  hour  of  stupid  inaction  every  morning, 
when  they  had  had  the  unpleasantness  of  getting 
up  early  on  foggy  mornings. 

The  argument  appeared  to  strike  Chasles: 
"Well  then;  from  now  onward,  don't  bring  the 
men  till  seven  o'clock;  I'll  take  the  responsi- 
bility." 


New  Conditions  383 

Gandolphe  thanked  him;  and  was  encouraged 
to  submit  a  few  more  reflections.  Perhaps,  also, 
the  work  was  not  always  quite  judiciously  ar- 
ranged. The  unshipped  material  was  sometimes 
handled  three  times  before  entrained.  There  was 
the  acknowledged  hostility  between  them  and  the 
civilian  workers,  and  the  constant  periods  of 
idling  due  to  the  absence  of  trucks.  Why  not 
follow  the  example  of  the  English  who,  not  far 
away,  had  arranged  to  unload  their  cargoes  straight 
from  the  ships  into  the  waggons? 

The  attache's  first  sign  was  one  of  irritation,  as 
though  a  non-com,  should  not  lay  down  the  law 
to  a  quite  superior  being.  But  the  sergeant's 
modest  demeanour,  his  correct  way  of  talking, 
the  sound  sense  that  his  words  revealed  ended  by 
convincing  him,  and  he  overcame  the  accursed 
prejudices  of  his  rank. 

"I'll  speak  to  Quentin;  perhaps  you're  right," 
he  said. 

From  another  talk  which  they  had  that  very 
evening,  Gandolphe  brought  away  the  beginnings 
of  welcome  improvements.  Mustering  his  men, 
he  said:  "My  first  good  news  for  you  is  that  our 
work  will  now  begin  at  seven  o'clock." 

There  was  an  explosion  of  delight:  "Now, 
that's  not  so  stupid !  That's  good  luck ! " 

Another  thing ;  the  lieutenant  granted  an  interval 
of  twenty  minutes,  at  nine  o'clock  and  at  four, 
so  that  they  could  eat  a  snack.  Every  day,  too, 
as  far  as  possible,  a  limited  job  would  be  set  them 


384  A  Life  at  Stake 

— so  many  trucks  to  load,  and  after  that,  they 
would  be  free  to  go  away! 

' '  How  many,  for  instance  ? ' ' 

"That  depends." 

"Waggons  of  galvanized  iron,  suppose?" 

"Fifteen.  That's  the  figure  settled  with  Cor- 
poral Quentin." 

Some  made  grimaces,  but  the  majority  con- 
gratulated themselves — "If  we  all  put  our  backs 
to  it!" 

The  new  conditions  came  into  operation  at 
once,  and  the  sergeant  had  the  inspiration  of 
classifying  his  men  according  to  their  physical 
ability.  Some  were  smarter  at  loading  the 
trolleys  and  some  at  the  waggons.  Mortas  was 
an  expert  at  roping.  Some  of  the  wounded, 
Darboise  among  others,  in  spite  of  some  protests, 
found  themselves  appointed  checkers.  With  each 
one  well  up  in  his  duties,  labour  was  lightened. 
Gandolphe  applied  himself  also  to  setting  up  bet- 
ter relations  with  the  civilian  element.  Among 
the  latter  were  some  foremen  and  crane-drivers 
whom  his  good  nature  won  over.  Their  men 
discovered  their  benefit,  for  the  majority  were  on 
piece-work,  according  to  the  new  system  set  up. 
In  their  turn  they  insisted  that  there  should  be 
no  more  shortage  of  waggons,  and  that  department, 
with  which  they  were  on  good  terms,  complied 
with  their  demands. 

At  the  same  time  the  sergeant  was  carrying  on 
a  campaign  at  headquarters  to  obtain  a  weekly 


New  Conditions  385 

rest-day.  On  Sundays  the  dockers  did  not  come. 
A  note  written  by  Chasles  ended  by  bringing  it 
off. 

The  consequence  was  seen  in  a  few  days  in  the 
fatigue's  remarkably  improved  results.  And  the 
men  were  to  be  envied.  They  did  not  "  sign  on  " 
until  seven ;  they  escaped  the  terror  and  oppression 
of  the  Textile ;  they  were  intelligently  employed — 
they  knew  what  they  had  to  do  and  why  they  did 
it. 

Above  all,  the  wonder  was  that  they  had  only 
praise  for  their  leaders.  In  his  turn,  Quentin  took 
the  hint  and  softened  his  manners,  astonished  at 
the  progress  accomplished.  The  attache  came  by 
and  was  lavish  in  words  of  encouragement. 

At  a  time  of  urgent  work  in  hand,  there  were 
two  days  of  rain.  In  face  of  the  heavy  downpour, 
Chasles  gave  an  order  to  the  men  to  take  shelter. 
They  instantly  got  under  the  tarpaulins  hard  by, 
while  in  the  next  yard  Dubus  was  going  to  and 
fro  in  his  old  waterproof,  his  dog  at  his  heels,  and 
never  ceased  to  worry  his  men,  who  were  drenched 
and  benumbed  and  had  not  a  minute  of  respite. 

Towards  two  o'clock  on  the  second  day,  as  the 
rain  was  dwindling,  Gandolphe  went  round  the 
"tents."  "What  about  getting  into  it  again, 
boys,  and  give  the  lieutenant  a  surprise?" 

With  a  hearty  will  and  excited  rivalry,  they 
performed  in  three  hours  the  work  of  an  entire  day ! 
When  the  quay  was  cleared,  they  could  set  about 

unloading  the  Dartmoor. 
as 


386  A  Life  at  Stake 

When  the  attach^  rather  gloomily  reappeared 
at  the  end  of  the  day,  his  stupefaction  was  fol- 
lowed by  an  expansive  smile:  "Ah,  you're  the 
right  sorts!"  So  that  the  hearts  of  all  were 
warmed. 

It  was  good  to  drink  that  cup  of  wine  that 
Chasles  had  distributed  the  next  day — at  the 
expense  of  the  section;  and  little  work  was  done 
that  day.  At  three  o'clock  the  delighted  men 
were  sent  away  to  St.  Pol. 


CHAPTER  III 

KINDLY   FEELING  AWAKENED 

FOR  some  time  at  the  beginning  of  that  period, 
strangely  enough,  Jean  was  slightly  cool  towards 
Gandolphe.  Was  it  resentment  that  the  other 
had  not  succeeded  in  his  daring  mission,  or  un- 
justifiable annoyance  on  finding  him  so  fair  in  the 
discharge  of  duty  that  he  did  not  hesitate  to  give 
Jean  a  hint  or  two  when  he  deserved  it? 

Whichever  it  was,  they  had  ceased  to  go  out 
together  in  the  evening.  Darboise  pretended 
that  he  did  not  much  enjoy  Lavigne's  society,  and 
when  he  was  sounded  on  the  point  of  going  again 
to  Malo,  he  had  had  the  cruelty  to  affect  a  chilling 
indifference : 

"You  go,  my  friend!" 

"Not  without  you!" 

And  the  first  ^ime  the  sergeant  spoke  to  him  of 
the  amends  due  to  Germaine,  Jean  rebelled: 

"Look  here,  I'm  tired  to  death  of  that  business. 
She's  a  woman  of  twenty-three  years  and  no 
simpleton.  We  did  wrong,  no  doubt,  and  it's 
turned  out  badly ;  but  tell  me,  is  she  the  only  one 
to  be  pitied?  Her  home  may  be  ruined!  Well, 
isn't  mine,  too  ?  Her  husband,  wounded  you  say, 

387 


388  A  Life  at  Stake 

and  all  ill-luck  fallen  on  their  heads?  I  don't 
find  it  so  damned  interesting.  He's  a  drunkard 
by  what  she's  told  me,  a  blackguard,  another 
Mafranc.  She?  She's  neurasthenic — hysterical 
— I  could  tell  you 

Gandolphe  let  the  flood  of  words  go  by : 

"Twenty-three?"  he  said  at  last:  "Ah,  let 
me  ask  you,  from  what  you've  told  me  yourself, 
isn't  she  a  child,  Darboise,  a  little  child?" 

' '  But — what  is  it  you  want  me  to  do  now  ? ' ' 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  be  feared — the 
mother's  attitude. ' ' 

"The  old  woman's  still  here?" 

"Still.  She's  chewing  the  rag  of  revenge.  It's 
when  her  son  returns — that  there'll  be  danger." 

"Soon,  do  you  think?" 

"Soon,  yes." 

"Nothing  wrong  yet,  yonder,  between  the 
husband  and  Germaine?" 

"Nothing  so  far;  I've  been  finding  out." 

The  conversation  rested  there.  But  several 
days  later  the  sergeant  said  to  Darboise:  "I've 
been  to  the  old  woman  again." 

"And  she  would  see  you?  " 

"If  you  can  call  it  seeing  me!" 

"She  insulted  you?" 

"A  virago — wouldn't  listen  to  anything." 

"And  then?" 

"I  shall  go  again." 

And  Gandolphe  did  go  again  to  the  Rue  Jeanne 
d  'Arc.  This  determination  astonished  the  Trousse- 


Kindly  Feeling  Awakened      389 

lier  woman,  and  nonplussed  her;  particularly  since 
he  was  always  correct,  clear,  and  composed.  And 
between  the  volleys  of  insult  which  he  stoically 
endured,  he  ended  by  making  a  few  fragments  of 
his  arguments  heard:  Think!  Did  she  wish  for 
complete  disaster  on  all  her  people? 

"Can't  be  worse!"  she  cried:  "Not  a  sou 
among  us !  And  my  lad  blind ! " 

He  strove  hard  to  cheer  her  up.  Were  there 
not  activities  on  foot,  pretty  nearly  everywhere 
and  notably  at  Caen,  to  assist  mutilated  soldiers? 

"A  fat  lot  he'll  fancy  that!  A  man  ruined  and 
done  for!" 

"Don't  discourage  him  more  than  he  is ! " 

"Ah,  shut  up,  damn  you!" 

So  it  ended  in  curses.  Rage  overcame  her  again 
when  she  thought  of  their  scattered  savings,  of  her 
son  reduced  to  this — a  wretched  parasite  for  the 
rest  of  his  life.  Everything  had  been  taken  away 
from  them  at  once — even  to  the  ground-floor 
rooms,  which  she  was  no  nearer  letting.  And 
all  that,  she  repeated,  was  thanks  to  a  pretty 
gentleman ! 

But  at  the  bottom  of  that  embittered  soul, 
Gandolphe  detected  the  survival  of  a  kindly  feel- 
ing. She  worshipped  her  grandchildren,  whom 
she  had  taken  in.  The  sergeant  often  surprised 
her  in  the  act  of  dandling  them  with  loving  words — 
"My  poor  little  darlings,  my  duckies!" 

He  ventured  to  admonish  her:  "For  their 
sake !  It's  in  their  name  that  I'm  pleading ! " 


390  A  Life  at  Stake 

"That's  likely!"  In  a  heart-broken  voice  she 
added:  "The  darling  treasures!  They've  come 
into  a  miserable  time — and  I'm  sure  they'll  never 
get  over  it!" 

She  had  fears  on  little  Gabriel's  account,  weak 
from  birth,  prematurely  weaned,  and  who  suffered 
from  the  heat  so  much  that  he  "had  had  enteritis  " 
for  a  week.  He  was  pale,  his  eyes  horribly  dull, 
his  stomach  swollen.  He  had  become  suddenly 
worse,  and  the  old  doctor  had  despaired  of  him 
at  once. 

The  grandmother  thought  she  would  go  mad, 
and  Gandolphe  found  her  sobbing. 

"You  must  take  him  to  the  Dispensary,"  he 
said. 

"  What  Dispensary  ?" 

The  Mayor  of  Dunkerque,  whom  the  sergeant 
had  met,  had  told  him  recently  of  certain  results 
obtained  by  the  subcutaneous  injection  of  sea- 
water.  Gandolphe  repeated  what  he  had  heard: 
"Something  worth  trying,  perhaps " 

"  Is  it  to  pay  for  ? "  the  old  woman  asked. 

"Yes;  one  pays,  on  principle;  but  it  isn't  ruin- 
ous." She  seemed  to  be  suspicious  of  entirely 
gratuitous  treatment. 

"But,"  she  asked,  "is  it  open  for— the  St.  Pol 
children?" 

"It  would  be  open  for  little  niggers  if  there  were 
any  to  save!" 

The  sergeant  gave  her  the  address.  When  she 
took  the  baby  to  the  consulting-room  next  day, 


Kindly  Feeling  Awakened      391 

the  nurse,  who  had  been  a  hospital  Sister,  nearly 
got  angry:  "And  it's  only  now  you're  bringing 
him!"  Weighing  the  dying  infant  in  her  hands, 
she  said  no  more.  Nothing  could  be  done  but  try 
what  she  usually  tried  in  desperate  cases — three 
injections  of  three  hundred  grammes  each  time. 

As  the  infant  was  still  breathing  next  day,  he 
was  given  the  same  dose — with  miraculous  results. 
At  the  fourth  examination  the  eyes  had  brightened, 
the  complexion  cleared,  he  was  livelier,  he  was 
saved. 

The  grandmother,  profoundly  moved,  did  not 
express  her  gratitude  to  Gandolphe  aloud.  She 
merely  thanked  him  by  giving  him  the  freedom  of 
her  house.  So  he  went  again,  more  constantly. 
He  played  with  the  children.  He  chatted  with 
the  old  woman,  who  now  condescended  to  answer 
him,  making  free  to  stop  him  and  put  him  in  his 
place  as  soon  as  he  "attacked  her  in  that  matter, " 
as  she  put  it. 

"I'm  waiting  for  my  boy !     You'll  see ' " 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   TRIO 

THIS  first  success  astonished  Jean.  He  ad- 
mired this  good  genius  of  his  and  was  annoyed 
with  himself  for  the  reserve  he  had  shown  him 
lately.  Happily,  he  knew  the  way  to  atone  for 
it: 

"Come  and  see  my  cousins,"  he  said:  "they 
were  asking  for  you  the  other  day!" 

They  betook  themselves  to  Malo.  As  a  result, 
no  doubt,  of  their  interrupted  relations,  which  in 
Gandolphe's  case  had  lasted  nearly  a  month,  their 
welcome  at  the  villa  was  cool,  and  especially  the 
young  lady's.  There  was  no  mention  of  music 
till  late,  and  then  Sylvaine  professed  hoarseness. 

Marcel,  the  son,  had  been  home  on  leave,  they 
learned,  and  had  brought  a  friend.  Jean  when  he 
heard  this  mentioned,  wondered  if  by  chance 
there  was  some  project  of  marriage — ?  And 
perhaps  it  was  lucky  that  he  had  only  formally 
encouraged  Gandolphe. 

Their  double  disappointment  brought  them 
nearer  to  each  other,  and  their  intimacy  was 
renewed.  They  began  again  to  walk  abroad  in 
the  evening;  and  often  Lavigne  was  of  the  party. 

392 


A  Trio  393 

Gandolphe  took  them  to  see  the  model  institu- 
tions installed  by  the  municipality:  the  Alexis- 
Jouffroy  Nursery,  with  the  animated  treasure  of 
healthy  lungs,  pink  and  chirping,  which  it  shel- 
tered; the  Friendly  Bureau,  well  lighted,  well 
arranged,  and  spotless,  where  social  assistance  in 
no  way  reflects  upon  the  dignity  of  the  poor;  the 
School  of  Applied  Industry,  which  had  just  begun 
a  new  term,  and  where  they  stayed  longer. 

There  were  sixty  youths  there,  slim,  clad  in 
blue  drill,  with  fresh  and  attentive  faces,  whose 
honesty  was  striking.  It  was  pleasant  to  watch 
them,  so  engrossed  in  the  slow  movement  of  the 
lathes  that  dropped  driblets  of  metal,  or  minutely 
busy  with  the  control  of  machine-tools.  Other 
workshops  were  fitted  up  for  joinery  and  the 
planing-machines.  Elsewhere,  watching  the  no- 
vices at  the  forge  dragging  about  heavy  shovels 
of  blazing  embers,  one  wanted  to  cry,  "Mind, 
children!  Don't  play  with  fire!"  But  the  preci- 
sion of  their  movement  clearly  spoke  of  precocious 
efficiency. 

"Look  now!  There's  fine  work!"  exclaimed 
the  old  foreman,  superintendent  of  the  practical 
work,  as  he  showed  our  friends  some  little  wonders 
of  the  fitter's  art,  that  had  won  prizes  in  the  end- 
of-term  competition. 

In  a  corner  three  discharged  soldiers,  mutilated 
in  the  legs,  peasants  for  whom  all  farm-labour 
was  ended,  were  learning  a  new  calling  from  their 
little  comrades.  Their  child-like  souls  were  grow- 


394  A  Life  at  Stake 

ing  young  again  in  those  surroundings,  and  every- 
body joked  and  whistled. 

Jean  admired  the  scene.  Lavigne  was  prolific 
of  ingenuous  exclamations. 

Good  old  Lavigne!  Decidedly  the  best  fellow 
in  the  world — and  what  virtue  like  goodness? 
The  society  of  his  new  friends,  too,  was  beginning 
to  appear  of  service  to  him.  He  had  not  nearly 
so  many  chances  for  drinking,  to  begin  with;  no 
more  of  those  interminable  visits  to  the  Cafe 
Terminus,  either.  Flattered  to  feel  himself  sought 
for,  he  became  more  communicative,  and  revealed 
his  nature  wholly.  Certainly  he  was  almost  de- 
void of  practical  intelligence,  and  in  some  respects  a 
big  child.  But  even  then  he  had  an  innocently 
original  mind,  and  some  culture.  Above  all,  Jean 
found  that  he  was  comparatively  well-informed  in 
all  matters  touching  the  fine  arts,  a  taste,  he  said, 
which  he  owed  to  his  father,  a  connoisseur.  All 
one  evening  they  discussed  the  merits  of  Chinard. 

"He  has  talent,"  Darboise  allowed.  "But 
wait  till  Monday,  and  I'll  show  you  then  what  I 
call  his  dodges!" 

But  on  the  following  Monday,  Chinard's  drawing 
did  not  appear ;  and  the  next  week,  in  place  of  it, 
there  was  a  caricature  by  Metivet.  Could  he 
be  ill — or  away  from  Paris  ?  Jean  debated  these 
theories.  Or — had  he  fallen  out  of  favour?  So 
much  the  worse  for  him ! 

Lavigne  appeared  enchanted  by  all  that  Socialist 
teaching  with  some  of  whose  beneficent  applica- 


A  Trio  395 

tions  Gandolphe  had  put  him  directly  in  touch. 
He  even  took  it  into  his  head  to  make  notes! 

"For  himself?"  Jean  asked. 

' '  No.  But  I  think  it  may  interest — my  brother- 
in-law" — who  was  the  mayor,  he  explained,  of  a 
little  place  in  Central  France. 

Both  mischievously  and  ingeniously  Gandolphe 
amused  himself  by  preaching  to  him  the  gospel 
of  anti-alcohol;  and  the  other  in  all  innocence 
approved — he  who  had  never  dreamed  that  he 
was  gradually  becoming  a  dipsomaniac.  One 
evening  when  they  came  to  fetch  Darboise,  Ma- 
franc  was  in  one  of  his  bad  days,  and  filling  the 
house  with  his  bawling  and  hiccups.  Jean  wanted 
to  take  them  away. 

"No,  let's  make  use  of  it!"  Gandolphe  advised. 

The  drunkard  having  ended  by  going  down  into 
the  cellar,  foaming  at  the  mouth,  they  gathered 
some  sorrowful  confidences  from  his  wife — ah,  the 
viciousness  of  her  man,  the  abomination  of  his  life! 

' '  He'll  kill  us,  monsieur.  It'll  end  badly !  The 
other  day  he  flourished  his  knife  and  threatened 
my  big  boy,  Armand.  I  had  to  shut  the  child  up 
and  pretend  that  the  key  was  lost — 

"You  put  up  with  that?"  said  Gandolphe. 

The  woman  admitted:  "That  makes  three 
times — that  I've  run  away  from  home,  with  the 
little  ones  because — he  gave  us  blows,  and  no 
money.  And  every  time,  these  police  gentlemen, 
when  I  go  to  ask  their  advice,  they  say,  'Make 
it  up  with  him.' ' 


396  A  Life  at  Stake 

' '  They're  wrong,  possibly. ' ' 

"Whatever  will  become  of  me,  with  my  four 
little  unhappy  ones!  But  for  them,  it'd  be  soon 
over — I'd  fling  myself  into  the  canal." 

Jean  started — she  as  well!  And  what  sort  of 
reprimand  could  do  any  good  in  this  case?  Now 
the  woman  brightened  up  and  told  them,  as  a  plea- 
sant memory,  the  story  of  the  baker's  man  above, 
who  got  tired  of  the  drunkard's  songs  and  rattled 
downstairs  one  night  and  gave  him  a  masterly 
hiding,  with  the  result  that  Mafranc  was  quiet  for 
a  week. 

Gandolphe  listened  to  the  story  and  was  forced 
to  feel  his  impotence.  The  children  were  gathered 
round,  and  supported  their  mother  by  their  looks. 
The  girl,  who  was  fourteen  but  looked  no  more 
than  ten,  was  delicate  and  fair,  with  a  pretty  face. 
She  laughed  wildly  at  the  recollection  of  the  lesson 
inflicted ;  and  the  boy  Armand,  whom  the  drunkard 
lately  chased  with  his  knife  in  hand,  expressed  his 
frank  desire  aloud : 

"If  only  papa  would  die!" 

Our  three  companions  went  away:  "What  do 
you  think  of  it,  Lavigne,  old  chap?" 

"I  think  it's  heart-breaking!  That  damned 
alcohol!" 

"For  the  sake  of  example,"  Gandolphe  went  on, 
"I  think  I'll  drink  nothing  in  future — but  water." 

"/'//  promise  that, "  Jean  declared. 

Lavigne  hesitated:  "I  take  only  a  stout  now 
and  again!" 


A  Trio  397 

"A  question  of  principle!" 

"Would  it  please  you?" 

' '  Water-drinkers,  we  three.     Is  it  agreed  ? ' ' 

"  Agreed,  agreed !" 

Darboise  still  pondered,  as  he  went,  the  sadness 
of  the  home  he  had  just  left : 

"It's  that  woman  who's  to  be  pitied!  It's 
those  little  ones!" 

One  would  have  said  that  he  was  harbouring 
some  plan. 


Some  weeks  went  by.  The  brotherhood  grew 
closer  among  the  members  of  the  trio,  thanks  to 
those  long  talks  every  evening  in  which  fancy  and 
reason  mingled  and  got  entangled. 

Lavigne  was  laying  by  new  surprises  for  his 
comrades,  in  the  revelation  of  certain  unexpected 
forms  of  sensitiveness  in  him. 

His  duties  at  the  station  often  kept  him  there  by 
night ;  and  his  great  pleasure,  he  explained,  was  to 
wander  among  the  deserted  platforms  and  explore 
the  black  space  that  the  many-coloured  signals 
pierced,  to  peer  into  the  mysterious  firmament 
over  his  head,  whence  sometimes  a  deadly  missile 
would  fall,  hardly  announced  by  the  purring  of  a 
motor.  He  felt  the  strange  poetry  of  the  scene 
and  of  that  state  of  war;  he  reciprocated  it  with 
mystic  passion,  a  sort  of  pantheistic  fervour. 
Though  he  rarely  went  to  the  Port,  he  was  worth 
hearing  when  he  described  the  impressions  he 


39«  A  Life  at  Stake 

received  in  passing  through.  It  seemed  to  him, 
for  instance,  in  the  hours  of  the  Port's  daily  ani- 
mation, as  if  he  had  found  France  stretched  out 
full  length  like  some  gigantic  creature,  unremit- 
tingly gathering  in,  with  the  swarming  arms  of  the 
harbour's  thousand  cranes,  all  the  things  she 
required  for  her  subsistence  and  her  defence. 

Jean  appreciated  the  wide  and  inspiring  symbol- 
ism of  the  picture.  He  too  had  felt  himself 
impressed  in  the  long  run  by  the  sustained  ampli- 
tude of  the  huge  effort,  of  which  only  a  tiny  part 
was  being  revealed  within  the  frame  of  those 
hangars  and  those  platforms. 

Their  work  in  the  "transit"  being  for  the  time 
less  intense,  Gandolphe  guided  him  in  strolls  under 
the  enormous  arches  and  along  the  humming 
quays,  by  the  colossal  hulls  of  discharging  ships. 

"The  Textile,  now;  I  suppose  you  think  you 
know  it?" 

The  sergeant  led  him  there,  and  together  they 
scrambled  up  the  sides  of  the  pyramids  of  sacks. 
From  that  height,  as  though  they  looked  down  on  a 
rough  sea,  they  commanded  a  view  over  the  hund- 
reds of  thousands  of  sacks  of  wheat,  oats,  and  rice, 
the  cargoes  of  ten  vessels.  And  they  discovered 
as  it  were  the  fauna  of  these  unknown  regions — 
the  team  of  window-cleaners,  a  dozen  companions 
in  soot-soiled  calico,  moving  briskly  about  on  the 
narrow  planks  thrown  as  gangways  over  the 
abysses. 

The  Port,   too,   offered   its  wonders   to  their 


A  Trio  399 

investigations.  Jean  was  both  surprised  and 
interested, — in  the  electricity  works  and  the  oily 
movement  of  its  monstrous  machines,  in  the 
torpedo-boats  of  the  "patrol,"  and  in  the  British 
monitors,  a  sort  of  pontoon  that  bristled  with 
huge  guns.  They  measured  with  their  eyes  those 
graving-docks,  where  a  shelled  steamer  was  hav- 
ing its  severe  wounds  dressed ;  they  pushed  on  to 
the  lighthouse,  and  farther  still,  to  the  latticed 
pier  that  was  washed  by  the  leaping  waves  of  the 
equinoctial  tides. 

"Are  you  like  me?"  Gandolphe  said:  "It 
seems  to  me  that  the  better  I  know  this  scene  the 
more  I  Ike  it!" 

"Yes,  it's  got  a  mug  of  its  own ! "  Jean  confessed, 
and  under  that  expression  of  the  painter's  slang, 
one  could  divine  the  understanding  and  apprecia- 
tion awakened  in  him  for  the  rough  but  rich 
environment  in  which  he  was  beginning  to  expand. 

It  was  some  time  now  since  they  had  touched  on 
more  intimate  subjects;  but  one  evening  when 
they  were  out  together,  Andree's  name  was  men- 
tioned. Even  the  sergeant  seemed  no  longer  to 
urge  confidence  on  him : 

"It's  certain,"  he  admitted,  "that  if  she's  a 
woman  of  settled  determination,  as  you  say,  the 
intellectual  inflexible 

"Intellectual — her?  She's  all  impulse  and  in- 
stinct." 

Jean  let  himself  go  on  to  recall  some  memories 
of  the  times  of  their  happiness,  the  days  of  childish 


400  A  Life  at  Stake 

pranks  which  were  glorified  by  their  mutual  affec- 
tion; and  as  Gandolphe  seemed  still  incredulous, 
he  went  one  better.  From  the  lovingly-guarded 
bundle  he  took  some  letters  at  random.  Among 
them  he  happened  on  that  incomparable  letter 
which  had  once  snatched  him  from  a  base  tempta- 
tion. When  the  sergeant  had  read  it : 

"My  word,  how  she  loved  you!"  he  said. 
"How  guilty  you  were!" 

Jean  had  no  answer  to  make,  and  the  other 
went  on : 

"But  I  say  again,  a  woman  who  loves  like  that, 
forgives." 

"But  you've  seen " 

"Let  time  have  effect!  Would  you  like  me  to 
write  to  her?" 

"Shall  I?" 

' '  Or  you,  indeed.     Why  not  ? " 

Darboise  wanted  no  other  advice.  That  same 
evening  he  dashed  off  some  lines  of  entreaty, 
touching  and  loving, — so  loving  that  he  dared 
not  show  them  even  to  Gandolphe. 

And  for  several  days  hope  revived  in  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  V 

A   TREATY   OF   RECONCILIATION 

BUT  what  anxiety  took  possession  of  him  anew 
that  morning  when  his  friend  informed  him  that 
Germaine's  return  with  the  blind  man  was  immi- 
nent! 

"Don't  you  think  that  the  old  woman — 
will ?" 

The  sergeant  durst  not  re-assure  him  overmuch. 

It  was  the  very  evening  arranged  for  the  return, 
and  they  could  not  stand  it.  Compelled  by  the 
fear  of  some  tragedy,  they  went  and  strolled  to- 
wards eight  o'clock  under  the  windows  of  the 
house  in  the  Rue  Jeanne  d'Arc.  There  was 
nothing.  They  went  back  a  little  later, — for,  some 
days  since,  the  sergeant  had  brought  about  the 
renewal  of  Jean's  permission  to  sleep  in  the  town. 

This  time  they  could  hear,  inside  the  house,  the 
sound  of  a  husky  voice,  which  seemed  sometime 
to  be  complaining  and  sometimes  to  explode  in 
anger.  Surely  his  mother  had  not  told  him? 

"Shall  we  go  in?"  said  the  sergeant. 

Jean  recoiled :     "  Not  I ! " 

The  next  day,  without  telling  Darboise,  Gan- 
*>  401 


402  A  Life  at  Stake 

dolphe  went  again  and  knocked  at  the  Trousseliers' 
door.  Germaine  opened  it ;  her  look  was  harassed. 

' '  How — has  it  gone  on  ? " 

"No  how  yet." 

"And  your  mother-in-law  and  you?" 

"We  don't  speak  a  word  to  each  other." 

"And  he, — does  he  notice  it?" 

"Of  course!— That  sets  him  thinking!" 

"You  must  make  it  up,"  said  Gandolphe  seri- 
ously: "I  know  her  now,  your  mother-in-law. 
She's  not  so  spiteful." 

Germaine  shook  her  head  dubiously.  Then, 
timidly,  she  asked  in  her  turn  for  news  of  Jean. 
He  gave  it,  and  she  went  on : 

"Is  he  all  right  again — with  his  wife?  " 

"No,  no." 

"Is  he  always  sad,  then?" 

"Always." 

"That's  my  biggest  trouble." 

"He,  too;  what  worries  him  above  all  is  the 
position  in  your  home." 

"Really?" 

He  assured  her  it  was  so;  and  a  gleam  of  joy 
appeared  on  the  disconsolate  face  at  the  thought 
that  she  was  not  an  object  only  of  indifference  to 
him. 

"He  wants  nothing  so  much,"  the  sergeant 
went  on,  "  as  to  see  you  all  on  good  terms  again 
in  your  house,  and  to  know  that  you  are  happy." 

Alas !  She  told  him  of  the  alarms  amidst  which 
she  was  living.  The  blind  man,  enraged  by  the 


A  Treaty  of  Reconciliation    403 

misfortune  which  had  crowned  two  years  of  mili- 
tary slavery,  had  taken  to  drink  again  the  mo- 
ment he  left  the  hospital.  The  journey  had  been 
dreadful,  and  there  was  a  scene  in  the  station  at 
Bourges.  Since  he  got  back,  he  talked  of  nothing 
but  blowing  the  whole  place  up,  and  he  was  even 
expecting  some  bombs  that  a  friend  was  to  bring 
him. 

"I'd  like  to  see  him, "  said  Gandolphe. 

"You're  not  afraid?" 

"What  of?" 

They  went  together  into  the  room.  The  old 
woman  was  stupefied  when  she  saw  him  on  the 
threshold,  but  got  up  and  greeted  him.  Little 
Desir6  hurried  up  and  the  sergeant  fondled  him. 
He  found  Trousselier  sunk  in  an  armchair,  with 
pallid  face  and  a  black  bandage  over  his  eyes. 

"Who's  that?"  he  cried  in  a  surly  voice. 

"A  neighbour, "  Germaine  said. 

"Neighbour?    Which?" 

The  old  woman  ventured:  "It's  the  sergeant 
— it's  him  that  told  us  where  to  take  the  little 
one." 

"And  what's  he  come  for?"  said  the  blind  man. 

"To  make  your  acquaintance,  to  offer  to  help 
you  in  any  way,  old  chap." 

"To  make  a  fool  of  me,  you  mean?" 

"If  I  could  do  anything  for  you?" 

"I  want  nobody." 

"That's  what  he's  like!"  murmured  Germaine 
in  a  tone  of  vexation. 


404  A  Life  at  Stake 

"I'm  what  it  pleases  me  to  be,  to  begin  with. 
And  they  can  come  and  see  me  when  I  ask  them. 
I  want  no  strangers  in  my  house!" 

"Right  you  are!  Then  I'll  call  again,"  said 
Gandolphe. 

"No  use  coming  again  when  you're  not  asked!" 

An  idea  seemed  to  have  taken  hold  of  him.  He 
got  up  and  turned  savagely  towards  his  wife: 

"This  is  your  paramour,  I  suppose?" 

The  attack  turned  Germaine  paler  still : 

"Joseph,  don't  talk  like  that " 

"I  know!"  he  stuttered,  his  hands  trembling 
with  rage  as  he  fumbled  for  the  stick  by  his  side: 
"I  know  you've  brought  him  here  so's  you  can 
both  laugh  in  my  face!" 

"I'll  come  again, "  Gandolphe  repeated,  and  he 
went  into  the  next  room.  Germaine  joined  him 
there,  and  looking  her  full  in  the  face,  he  said: 

"He's  been  drinking?" 

"To  be  sure!    What  else ?" 

"You  must  take  it  away  from  him." 

"He  flies  into  a  fury " 

"Let  him  fly.  It's  got  to  be.  Where  do  you 
put— the  bottle?" 

With  a  movement  of  her  head  she  indicated  the 
big  cupboard  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  He  went 
and  opened  it.  On  one  of  the  shelves,  by  some 
empty  glasses,  was  a  bottle  of  rum,  secretly  bought 
that  morning  at  the  corner  tavern. 

"We  must  take  that  away,"  he  went  on,  "and 
he  mustn't  have  any  more." 


A  Treaty  of  Reconciliation    405 

As  she  hesitated,  the  blind  man  appeared  at  the 
door,  groping  his  way : 

"I  can  hear  jawing,"  he  cried.  "Is  that  chap 
still  there?" 

Gandolphe  seized  the  bottle  with  a  decisive 
movement  and  went  out.  He  did  not  go  away, 
and  returned  almost  at  once.  A  violent  scene  was 
in  progress.  Trousselier  was  demanding  his  rum, 
and  it  was  curious  that  while  Germaine  dared  not 
intervene,  it  was  the  old  woman  who  was  standing 
up  to  her  son : 

"You  can't  have  any  more!     It's  done!" 

4 'Can't  I,  by  God!" 

The  man  felt  his  way  with  extended  arms  to  the 
cupboard,  and  his  hand  went  to  the  familiar  shelf. 
He  took  down  a  bottle,  uncorked  it,  and  sniffed 
at  the  neck.  Not  the  right  one,  so  he  felt  for 
another.  This  too  was  not  the  one,  and  as  his 
mother  drew  near  and  plucked  at  his  sleeve,  his 
rage  exploded  upon  both  women — they  were  in 
the  plot  together !  He  seized  plates  and  glasses  on 
the  sideboard  and  hurled  them  in  his  fury  across 
the  room,  and  his  stick  whirled  terribly  round. 

Germaine  fled,  leading  little  Desire  by  the  hand. 
He  was  crying — his  face  cut  by  a  flying  piece  of 
china  that  had  luckily  just  missed  the  eye.  When 
overtaken  by  Gandolphe  she  poured  out  her  rebel- 
lion in  sobs  and  exclamations.  She  would  not  go 
back  to  such  a  man ! 

He  let  the  first  gush  of  her  bitterness  exhaust 
itself.  Then  he  said,  gently : 


406  A  Life  at  Stake 

"You  must  admit  that  he  has  some  right  to  be 
exasperated. ' '  Skilfully  he  questioned  her : 

"And  your  mother-in-law — what  does  she  do?" 

"She  resists  him." 

"There  are  two  of  you  then." 

Germaine  sighed:  "Two  enemies." 

"That's  your  fault."  He  hinted  what  help  they 
would  be  able  to  give  each  other — they  who 
were  both  intent  on  almost  the  same  end.  But 
to  begin  with  they  must  give  up  their  family 
feud. 

"It's  she!    It's  she!" 

"Perhaps  that '11  alter!" 

He  went  back  with  her  to  the  door.  The  house 
was  wrapped  again  in  deep  silence.  Germaine 
had  forgotten  her  key,  and  rang  the  bell.  The 
old  woman  opened  the  door  and  instantly  put  the 
anxious  question — "The  little  one?" 

"Well,  what  of  him?" 

"Nothing  serious?" 

' '  No,  but  if  it  had  been  a  centimetre  higher ! ' ' 

"My  God!"  With  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  the 
grandmother  took  the  child  in  her  arms.  When 
she  had  seen  him  running  away  with  his  face 
bleeding,  she  had  believed  his  eye  was  struck. 

"And  I  shouted  it  at  Joseph,  that, — that  he'd 
knocked  his  eye  out,  and  it  was  same  as  if  he'd 
been  felled  with  a  club.  He  stopped  all  of  a 
sudden:  'No!  Say  it  isn't  true!'  'Yes  it  is, 
and  his  mother's  just  taken  him  to  the  chemist!' 
He  fell  on  to  a  chair,  quite  sober,  saying  he  was  a 


A  Treaty  of  Reconciliation    4<>7 

brute,  a  brute,  but  also  that  it  was  all  too  miserable, 
and  he'd  chuck  himself  into  the  water." 

What  a  frenzy  it  was  that  actuated  all  these 
melancholy  creatures ! 

The  old  woman  turned  to  Gandolphe: 

"When  he  hasn't  been  drinking,"  she  sighed, 
"he's  not  so  bad " 

"No  one's  bad, "  said  the  sergeant. 

He  kept  them  both  there,  for  quite  a  long  time, 
on  the  doorstep.  The  moon  was  rising,  and  the 
serene  glow  was  scattering  the  gathered  darkness. 
They  could  hear  the  drone  of  an  aeroplane  and  see 
the  shafts  of  light  from  a  new  intermittent  lamp 
which  the  aviator  was  trying.  Patient  and  gentle 
as  an  apostle,  Gandolphe  was  holding  forth  on 
forgiveness  and  good-will. 

Almost  opposite  them,  a  big  patch  of  blackness 
in  the  row  of  houses  bore  silent  witness  that  one 
of  them  was  destroyed  last  year  by  a  38omm.  shell. 
To  leeward  of  death,  poor  human  beings  should 
help  and  support  each  other.  People  were  never 
so  low  that  they  could  not  build  again  a  temple  in 
which  to  shelter  their  reasons  for  existence.  What 
was  the  sum  of  their  trouble?  The  son,  the  hus- 
band— cruelly  struck  down  ?  But  as  long  as  breath 
remained  in  the  human  being — !  Some  way  would 
be  found  whereby  this  man  could  earn  his  living 
and  bring  up  his  children  decently. 

"That's  so,  little  one?"  The  sergeant's  hand 
was  stroking  the  head  of  the  pensive  little  boy — 
for  whose  sake,  he  said,  they  must  be  of  enduring 


408  A  Life  at  Stake 

courage,  and  then — even  if  the  world  of  today 
crumbled  in  ruin — hope  could  live  upon  a  morrow 
blossoming  with  happiness. 

The  two  women  listened  to  him  in  silence, 
subdued  by  his  words.  And  perhaps  the  line  of 
his  argument  attracted  them  less  than  his  gestures, 
less  than  his  serious  and  musical  voice.  In  the 
end  he  took  hold  of  a  hand  of  each  of  them,  and 
joined  them  on  the  child's  head : 

"  You  are  the  mother  and  grandmother.  You 
are  the  wife  and  mother.  In  that  way  you  are 
bound  together. " 

They  offered  no  resistance.  It  was  a  treaty  of 
sacred  reconciliation,  a  covenant  of  union. 

On  his  way  back  to  describe  the  scene  to  Jean, 
Gandolphe  felt  his  heart  bathed  in  that  gladness 
which  is  the  good  man's  due.  Looking  up  to  the 
peaceful  sky,  he  fortified  himself  in  the  hope  that 
if  he  still  worked  for  the  general  happiness,  he 
would  ensure  his  own. 


BOOK  X 
CHAPTER  I 

THE   TASK   OF   LIFE 

Two  weeks  more  had  gone  by,  and  Andr6e  had 
sent  no  reply. 

Jean  lived  in  a  sort  of  sentimental  torpor. 
There  was  no  acute  suffering — only  the  feeling  of  a 
sleeping  pain  that  was  ready  to  awake  again  as 
soon  as  he  questioned  his  heart.  But  he  no  longer 
ventured  on  that  game,  and  he  took  it  kindly  of 
Gandolphe  that  he  abstained  from  all  intrusive 
inquiries. 

The  "transit"  continued  to  run  smoothly. 
Assuredly,  the  sergeant  knew  how  to  go  about  it. 
When  for  eight  whole  days  his  team  had  had  no- 
thing but  galvanized  iron  to  handle,  iron  and  still 
more  iron,  and  the  monotony  of  the  task  was 
giving  rise  to  some  slackness,  Gandolphe  took  it 
into  his  head  to  find  out  the  destination  of  their 
daily  consignments.  The  trucks,  for  instance, 
were  labelled  "Moreuil." 

Where  was  that  spot?  He  made  inquiries. 
Ah,  in  the  Somme  valley,  quite  near  the  line  of 

409 


410  A  Life  at  Stake 

fire!  Might  not  their  daily  effort  be  of  immediate 
benefit  to  the  offensive? 

An  adjutant  of  convoy  confirmed  the  supposi- 
tion. All  those  materials  were  hardly  unshipped 
there  before  they  were  forthwith  transported  to 
the  second  line,  where  they  were  used  to  build 
strong  temporary  shelters  for  that  line  of  artillery 
that  was  inexorably  advancing  and  forcing  the 
enemy  to  retreat. 

As  soon  as  they  knew  this,  the  ardour  of  our 
friends  was  roused  to  the  point  of  rivalry.  You 
could  see  the  men  with  wheel-barrows  break  into 
races  between  them.  The  loaders,  gathered  in 
groups  of  four  or  six,  seized  the  sheets  of  iron; 
"one,  two — up!"  Laughing,  they  nimbly  lifted 
them  up  to  the  waggons,  where  three  pals  had  the 
job  of  arranging  them. 

As  Chasles  passed  on  his  bicycle,  Gandolphe 
cried :  ' '  You've  got  some  boys  here,  lieutenant ! ' ' 

The  civilians  entered  into  competition;  and  for 
three  days  following  things  went  with  such  a  vim 
that  the  Dartmoor  was  at  the  quayside  twenty- 
four  hours  less  than  usual. 

"They're  playing  you  a  dirty  trick,  eh?"  the 
attache  said  laughingly  to  Clawson,  the  English 
captain,  who  used  to  profit  in  his  own  way  by  the 
intervals  of  waiting  at  Dunkerque. 

"I'm  satisfied!"  Clawson  retorted:  "Those 
things  come  after  duty!" 

Chasles  asked  the  sergeant  to  call  his  fifty 
workers  together  when  the  whistle  went : 


The  Task  of  Life  41 1 

"My  lads,  I  feel  obliged  to  offer  you  my  per- 
sonal thanks,  along  with  the  brigadier's.  It's  a 
saving  of  ten  thousand  francs;  and  our  comrades 
on  the  Somme  will  be  able  to  protect  themselves 
quicker.  You  are  possibly  reducing  their  casual- 
ties, simply  by  this  day  that  you  have  gained. 

Poitou  murmured:  "It'd  be  top-hole,  eh,  to 
gain  two  of  'em!" 

Gandolphe  was  tapping  Jean's  shoulder:  "Well? 
Is  the  Dubus  system  swamped?" 

' '  Yes, ' '  Darboise  admitted :  ' '  Here,  the  result's 
marvellous — thanks  to  you !  Unfortunately,  men 
like  you  are  so  rare!" 

"Plenty  of  men  are  doing  their  duty." 

"Hum!  Look  where  we  are  in  the  war!" 
Jean  had  obviously  renewed  his  relations  with 
Decante  of  late. 

"I  don't  pretend,"  replied  the  other,  "that  we 
might  not  have  done  better;  but  look  where  we 
were  when  we  started ! ' ' 

He  recalled  the  beginnings  of  the  war.  Our 
inferiority! — worse  than  in  1870.  And  yet,  after 
five  weeks — the  Marne' 

"But  since  then?" 

"Well?" 

"The  blunders  committed ! " 

"No  doubt — they're  always  the  most  obvious 
in  times  of  recoil.  But  also,  to  be  fair,  what 
powers  have  been  revealed!  I'm  not  speaking 
only  of  courage,  in  which  we  want  nothing  from 
any  nation,  but  qualities  of  organisation,  that 


412  A  Life  at  Stake 

brain-power  which  some  people  foolishly  claim  as 
a  monopoly  for  our  enemies." 

The  sergeant  set  up  the  striking  picture  of  the 
political,  economic,  and  diplomatic  difficulties 
among  which  our  leaders  had  unceasingly  moved. 
And  now,  after  twenty-six  months,  were  we  not 
beginning,  slowly  but  surely — thanks  to  energy, 
work,  and  even  to  method,  it  must  be  acknowledged 
—to  get  the  mastery  in  all  points  over  those 
great  experts  in  method  ? 

"Mastery?" 

"Exactly."  Gandolphe  spoke  under  the  sway 
of  that  justifiable  enthusiasm  which  filled  French 
hearts  at  the  beginning  of  October,  1916.  What 
were  the  diplomatists  on  the  other  side  saying 
about  Roumania's  sortie  from  neutrality  and  the 
repression  of  the  plots  in  Greece?  Our  mastery  in 
the  air,  too,  was  now  definite;  and  the  fruits  of  our 
effort  on  the  Somme  were  ripening  rapidly.  The 
day  after  the  taking  of  Combles,  what  consterna- 
tion showed  itself  in  the  German  communiques ! 

"Did  all  that  get  done  by  itself?  To  get  going 
and  to  focus  so  many  incongruous  elements,  how 
many  masters  of  all  the  branches  of  human  activity 
must  have  arisen — builders  and  scientists,  direc- 
tors and  strategy !  Come  now,  what  country  like 
ours,  where  our  improvisation  counterbalanced 
the  labours  of  forty  years?  Our  race  has  all  the 
gifts!  The  battle  of  the  Marne  was  a  victory  for 
intuition  and  genius.  Our  present  successes  are 
prodigies  of  industry  and  talent." 


The  Task  of  Life  413 

"You  speak  in  vain!"  said  Jean.  "When  I 
look  at  our  military  men — bah !  Even  here  there 
are  plenty  who've  done  themselves  well  out  of  it!" 

"Here?" 

"In  just  this  work  that's  going  on  round  about 
us,  can  you  tell  me  where  the  mind  and  intelligence 
come  in?" 

Gandolphe  quoted  a  simple  fact.  The  Depot 
of  Dunkerque  was  the  most  important  in  France 
right  up  to  a  time  not  long  gone  by.  During  the 
great  battles  in  Artois,  it  happened  that  the 
bakery  had  to  supply  500,000  rations  at  once  on 
the  merest  warning : 

"They  have  never  once  failed  the  army — the 
goods  have  always  been  sent  off  to  time.  Don't 
you  think  it  was  necessary  for  Morinet  to  be  a 
strict  man?" 

"Considering  what  he  is,  it's  possible!" 

"And  Deludat.  Although  he's  no  good  at 
spelling,  he's  very  conscientious  in  his  work!" 

"A  brute — don't  mention  him!" 

"  'Brute'  is  soon  said.  I  was  talking  about  him 
lately  to  Trubert,  his  orderly,  and  he  assured  me 
that  he's  'not  a  bad  sort, '  at  bottom!" 

"Still  your  famous  theory?" 

"More  than  ever!" 

They  fell  to  arguing.  Jean  went  on  to  the  war- 
path against  this  obdurate  optimism.  No,  really, 
he  couldn't  have  it;  he  remembered  too  many 
monstrously  dirty  tricks,  too  many  deplorable 
mistakes.  Look  at  the  potatoes  allowed  to  start 


4H  A  Life  at  Stake 

sprouting,  the  sacks  allowed  to  rot.  And  at  the 
bakery  only,  look  at  the  shortage  of  mechanical 
kneaders.  What  about  the  incessant  scandals  of 
the  "wood  fatigue?"  Oh  yes;  they  were  getting 
along !  Neraudin  ought  to  be  promoted ! 

Gandolphe  advanced  his  arguments.  Did  they 
know  everything?  Those  potatoes — as  long  as  he 
had  mentioned  them, — had  he  any  idea  that  it  was 
in  Holland,  not  at  Rouen,  where  they  had  gone 
bad  on  the  quays,  through  the  default  of  ship- 
owners who  had  guaranteed  the  transport?  Out 
of  date,  was  it,  the  procedure  at  the  bakery?  All 
the  more  reason  to  admire  it  for  having  done  what 
it  was  called  on  to  do!  And  even  there,  there 
were  actually  beneficial  transformations  going  on, 
planned  by  Adjutant  Thomeray,  a  quiet  chap, 
who  did  less  shouting  than  work.  The  brigadier? 
One  had  a  right  not  to  care  for  his  character,  but 
he  was  an  astonishing  worker !  Chasles,  who  saw 
him  on  the  job,  didn't  spare  his  enthusiasm! 

Jean  thought  it  expedient  to  smile,  and  say: 
"I  don't  insist.  You'll  end  by  defending  Dubus 
at  last!" 


Dubus !  A  few  days  later,  when  Darboise  had 
climbed  on  to  a  rick  during  the  period  of  their 
snack,  he  saw  this  Dubus  walking  among  some 
piles  of  logs  and  making  his  way  to  the  next  yard. 
At  sight  of  him  Darboise  made  a  fierce  grimace— 
the  only  being  who  got  no  forgiveness  even  at  the 


The  Task  of  Life  415 

indulgent  hands  of  the  sergeant;  and  he  thought 
spitefully  how  many  more  there  were  like  him ! 

As  usual,  the  adjutant  was  closely  followed 
by  his  dog.  Jean  thought  he  could  see  that  the 
animal  was  limping, — yes,  he  was. 

"Athos!"  his  master  called. 

The  dog  came  up,  and  Dubus,  sitting  on  a  heap 
of  planks,  took  and  examined  the  trailing  foot. 

A  thorn !  The  adjutant  took  a  needle  from  his 
purse  and  "purified"  it  in  the  flame  of  a  match. 

How  was  he  going  to  set  about  it?  Darboise 
expected  to  see  the  dog  resist.  He  even  counted 
on  seeing  him — and  he  would  have  given  five 
francs  to  see  it — plant  his  teeth  in  his  ugly  master's 
thigh.  But  the  adjutant  was  still  caressing  the 
silky  paw  that  was  covered  with  tawny  hair. 

What  tenderness  he  showed,  the  brutal  Dubus, 
in  touching  that  quivering  flesh  without  inflicting 
further  pain!  His  face  had  assumed  a  quite 
uncommon  expression  of  sympathy,  and  he  was 
whistling,  as  if  to  divert  the  poor  beast,  which 
made  little  starts  and  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

At  last,  when  the  little  splinter  came  away  on 
the  fine  point,  he  lifted  the  paw  to  his  lips  in  a 
furtive  movement.  Athos  drew  it  back  quickly 
and  put  it  somewhat  timorously  on  the  ground. 
He  took  a  few  hesitating  steps,  and  then  came  back 
wagging  his  tail.  His  big  handsome  head  was 
then  fervently  rubbed  against  the  knees  of  his 
master,  who  stroked  him  affectionately. 

What  a  flood  of  thought  came  over  Jean !    He 


416  A  Life  at  Stake 

remembered  a  few  facts  he  had  gleaned  about 
Dubus — that  he  had  been  divorced  a  long  time  and 
was  alone  in  the  world,  except  for  his  dog's  society. 
He  loved  that  animal,  at  least.  Love ! — the  power 
of  that  incomparable  word !  In  that  love  he  was 
tied  to  the  human  family ;  in  him  too  there  was  a 
fund  of  kindness ;  even  in  him  there  was  something 
to  build  upon!  And  this  was  the  only  being 
whom  Gandolphe  would  not  defend !  What  about 
the  others,  then?  In  every  soul  there  was  a  spark 
to  set  flashing !  That  was  the  Task ! 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   WIND   OF   FORTUNE 

TRUE  Jean  regretted  the  former  freshness  of  his 
heart,  the  delirium  of  high  spirits  and  hope  in 
which  he  began  life.  True,  he  saw  in  the  persist- 
ence of  the  war  a  cause  of  mourning  and  gloom  to 
every  generous  heart.  And  he  in  no  way  hid  from 
himself  the  secondary  motive  of  his  sadness.  Never 
mind,  great  progress  was  made!  The  desire  to  do 
away  with  himself  no  longer  passed  through  his 
mind  except  as  a  silly  notion — since  death  was  the 
only  evil,  and  life  the  source  of  all  good  things! 

Gandolphe's  society  and  their  multiplied  con- 
versations had  developed  manly  maturity  in  him. 
He  was  no  more  the  flippant  young  man  of  not 
long  ago.  He  had  realised  the  obligations  that 
lay  on  him  since  he  was  of  those  who  would  survive. 
Rallying  to  Socialist  teachings,  he  felt  the  need  of 
grasping  its  principles.  The  sergeant  borrowed 
books  for  him  out  of  the  municipal  library,  and 
he  read  the  great  forerunners  Jean -Jacques,  Leroux, 
Proud'hon,  Louis  Blanc.  He  read  Karl  Marx, 
logician  and  doctrinaire.  He  read  Jaur6s,  singer 
and  apostle. 

27  417 


4i  8  A  Life  at  Stake 

And  one  saw  him,  like  Gandolphe  his  master, 
striving  hard,  almost  before  his  conversion,  to 
avoid  sectarianism  and  dilute  his  judgment  with  a 
little  human  charity,  to  apply  those  lowly  moral 
principles  whose  sovereign  power  the  sergeant  had 
revealed  to  him. 

The  first  results  were  not  long  in  appearing. 
Delight  was  theirs,  in  the  modest  sphere  which 
had  fallen  to  them,  on  the  day  when  Lavigne 
returned  from  leave  and  declared  that  they  had 
found  him  at  home  a  changed  man ! 

"And  I  showed  my  notes  on  the  Dispensary  to 
my  brother-in-law.  Very  interested — I  thought  he 
would  be.  He  wrote  at  once  to  the  mayor  here 
and  to  Quinton." 

And  now,  sooner  than  one  would  have  believed 
certain  hopes  were  being  confirmed  in  the  matter  of 
Germaine's  husband,  who,  since  the  night  of  the 
great  scene,  had  grown  wiser.  The  devotion  of 
the  two  women,  at  last  united,  discovered  him 
grateful.  Gandolphe,  returning  to  the  charge, 
succeeded  in  overawing  him  by  his  earnest  words. 
And  the  man  did  not  seem  very  far  from  agreeing 
to  an  attempt  at  learning  another  trade — "if  only 
to  astonish  the  neighbours,  who'd  thought  him  a 
poor  old  good-for-nothing!" 

Jean  was  able  to  claim  the  credit  for  a — happy 
idea.  Under  some  pretext  or  other  he  took  the 
excellent  Doguet  to  the  Rue  Jules  Ferry  and  ar- 
ranged for  him  to  meet  Madame  Mafranc. 

They  both  let  themselves  go  at  length  on  their 


The  Wind  of  Fortune         4*9 

troubles,  and  each  had  words  of  sympathy  for  the 
other.  Jean  kept  himself  in  readiness  to  sound 
them  in  detail,  and  the  woman's  turn  came  first. 
Why  shouldn't  she  divorce  her  man  ?  The  woman 
cried,  "What  should  I  do  then?"  "Get  mar- 
ried again,  of  course!"  "But  what  man'll  saddle 
himself  with  me  and  my  four  kiddies?" 

Doguet,  himself  a  sly-boots,  saw  at  once  how 
the  cat  was  jumping.  He  acknowledged  that — 
what  he  was  after — was  really  a  better-class  woman 
— such  as  he  had  in  mind.  Only  it  was  obvious 
that  it  shocked  both  of  them  to  be  talking  about 
marriage  while  the  husband  was  still  alive. 

Now  it  happened  about  this  time  that  Mafranc, 
as  he  passed  one  evening  under  the  railway  bridge, 
conceived  the  idiotic  idea  of  insulting  the  Customs 
officer  on  duty.  He  was  instantly  arrested  and 
locked  up;  and  the  second  day  was  seized  with 
congestion  of  the  lungs.  Undermined  by  his 
vice,  he  sank  rapidly  when  carried  to  the  hospital. 
But  he  remained  finally  obnoxious,  and  refused 
with  curses  to  see  his  wife  and  children. 

Jean  had  re-discovered  his  passionate  devo- 
tion to  his  art — an  excellent  thing  for  him.  On 
Gandolphe's  advice,  he  began  again  to  take  his 
sketch-book  to  the  yard,  and  in  moments  of  respite 
his  comrades  contended  with  each  other  for  the 
honour  of  passing  before  his  pencil.  One  afternoon 
the  attache  came  up  very  quietly  and  watched 
him  at  work  on  a  bigger  subject,  a  scene  with  ten 
figures  in  it  of  surprising  movement  and  life. 


420  A  Life  at  Stake 

Chasles  only  made  his  presence  known  when 
the  sketch  was  finished : 

' '  Splendid !  Lend  me  that — I  want  to  take  it  to 
the  Bureau!" 

The  next  day,  he  sent  for  Jean:  "A  wild 
success,  your  bit  of  work!" 

"Really?" 

"I  showed  it  round  the  mess.  The  brigadier 
wants  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

Jean  made  a  grimace;  but  the  invitation  was 
the  same  thing  as  a  command. 

Neraudin,  when  Jean  appeared,  received  him 
affably : 

' '  Ah,  you're  an  artist  ?  That's  obvious !  There's 
the  'touch '  in  the  work  of  yours  they've  shown  me." 

A  proposition  followed : 

"Would  you  like  to  be  relieved  from  your  fatigue 
for  a  few  days — to  make  me  a  few  sketches  accord- 
ing to  my  requirements  ?  Does  that  suit  you  ? ' ' 

Did  it  suit  him !  Two  delightful  weeks  followed, 
in  which  he  went  every  day  with  his  slender  im- 
plements into  the  most  picturesque  corners  of  the 
Port.  And  his  drawings  had  the  good  luck  to 
please.  His  high  employer  papered  his  room 
with  them  in  delight : 

"The  collection  will  be  useful  to  me  to  explain 
my  responsibilities,  eh,  every  time  a  general  or 
supervisor  comes  round.  When  you  get  any 
other  ideas,  let  me  know.  I'll  give  the  order 
that  you  have  the  afternoon  free." 

Such  relations  with  high  places  were  not  long 


The  Wind  of  Fortune         421 

in  earning  special  respect  for  Jean.  Not  on  the 
part  of  the  captain  or  of  Fauvel,  who  were  not 
aware  of  them;  but  at  least  on  the  part  of  his 
comrades  and  non-coms,  and  of  Corporal  Valentin, 
who  came  one  fine  day  to  beg  Jean  to  "do  his 
head  "  for  his  fiancee. 

Darboise  did  it.  Whereupon  the  corporal,  in  a 
burst  of  confidence,  showed  him  some  of  the  girl's 
letters,  quite  touching  in  their  tale  of  an  ingenuous 
and  devoted  passion.  She  was  servant  at  an  inn, 
and  penniless,  but  they  had  a  baby,  and  he  should 
marry  her  for  that  reason.  He  also,  a  better  chap 
than  one  would  have  thought ! 

From  day  to  day,  Jean  showed  his  sketches  to 
his  two  friends.  Certain  remarks  passed  on  them 
by  Lavigne  struck  Jean  as  legitimate.  Did  not 
the  sergeant  notice,  in  his  friend's  technique, 
something  of  Claude  Boucheron's  method? 

"Ah,  he  was  my  master!"  said  Jean,  and  it 
was  the  first  time  the  great  artist's  name  had  been 
mentioned  between  them. 

The  discovery  was  strange,  and  Lavigne  was 
wonder-struck.  Claude  Boucheron  was  a  cousin 
of  his!  Better  than  that,  it  was  his  own  father 
who  had  sheltered  and  assisted  him  when,  at  the 
beginning  of  his  career,  the  artist  had  reached 
Paris,  poor  and  without  influence,  and  reduced  to 
giving  lessons  on  the  mandolin ! 

"We  still  have  at  home  some  of  his  work  of  that 
period — work  unknown  to  the  world,  but  even  then 
wonderful !  You  shall  see  it ! " 


422  A  Life  at  Stake 

It  was  also  through  Lavigne  that  Jean  got 
details  of  the  reasons  why  Chinard's  drawings 
had  not  appeared  now  for  six  weeks  in  the  Quo- 
tidien.  At  the  end  of  September  there  had 
been  a  scandal — Paulette  Dartigues  with  a  come- 
dian of  the  Boulevard  Theatre  surprised  by  the 
regular  lord  and  master.  And  Letourneur  had  re- 
solved on  a  definite  breakaway.  Now,  being  a 
crafty  financier,  he  had  been  careful  for  years 
past  to  have  all  bills  made  out  in  his  name,  and  he 
paid  them.  In  a  very  short  time,  then,  the  actress 
had  been  shown  the  door  of  her  house;  the  favour- 
ite's favourites  were  swept  away  in  the  same  hurri- 
cane, Chinard  at  their  head.  How  had  he  gone 
on  since?  Not  an  echo  of  him,  nor  a  word  in 
the  papers.  His  exhibition  at  the  Devambez  Gal- 
lery had  had  to  be  countermanded. 

At  first  Darboise  felt  himself  revenged;  then, 
too  much  revenged,  for  a  fellow  like  Chinard, 
deprived  of  real  resources,  was  capable  of  doing 
foolish  things. 

It  was  a  singular  veering  of  the  wind  of  fortune 
that  made  it  now  blow  on  Jean.  Gandolphe  had 
had  the  idea  of  submitting  some  of  Jean's  best 
sketches  to  his  celebrated  friend  in  Paris,  whose 
name  he  had  heard — Maupeou,  manager  of  the 
Revue  Moderne.  By  return  of  post  he  had 
replied:  "Your  young  friend  has  a  lot  of  talent!  I 
shall  be  only  too  pleased  to  take  something  from 
him.  Let  me  know  his  terms. " 

Jean  felt  as  if  he  were  dreaming.    He  had  but  to 


The  Wind  of  Fortune         423 

sign  two  drawings,  and  a  few  days  later  a  cheque 
reached  him.  Two  pages  were  given  him  in  the 
next  number  of  the  Revue,  and  Maupeou,  in  the 
course  of  several  cordial  letters,  demanded  more 
drawings. 


Jean  decided  then  to  build  new  plans  for  the 
future.  He  would  go  forward — it  was  worth 
while — into  a  career  which  appeared  to  have 
so  auspicious  a  beginning,  not  disdaining  wealth 
and  fame,  but  even  seeking  them,  if  only  that  one 
day  Some  One  should  regret  having  severed  their 
lives.  And  then,  what  could  one  not  do,  with 
money?  He  would  know  the  happiness  of  letting 
his  soul  expand,  of  cultivating  himself — a  free  and 
spacious  life,  and  travel,  too !  And  so  much  good 
to  accomplish ! 

And  already  the  chances  of  sowing  the  good 
seed  appeared  automatically  in  his  path. 

Cazenave  first,  who  had  avoided  him  of  late. 
But  Jean  overtook  him  one  fine  day  and  began  to 
talk  to  him  in  the  same  old  friendly  way.  And 
the  other  confessed  his  worries — Gabrielle,  his 
fair  little  shop-girl  friend  in  the  Grand  Bazaar  at 

F ,  enceinte !  Her  mother  was  writing  to  his 

and  threatening  them  with  the  thunders  of  both 
civil  and  military  justice: 

"You  can  imagine  a  complaint  coming  here! 
And  I  can't  do  anything!" 

"What's  she  like?"  asked  Jean,  after  a  silence. 


424  A  Life  at  Stake 

"As  nice  as  she  can  be,  and  well  brought  up. 
And  she  was  a  good  girl  till  she  knew  me!" 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  marry  her?" 

The  little  Bordelais  uttered  an  exclamation: 
"Marry!"  Why  the  devil  hadn't  he  thought  of 
that!  And  then  he  fell  upon  reflection: 

"Sure  enough  that  would  put  everything 
right!" 

Another  day  Darboise  met  Vechaud,  poor  little 
Vechaud,  whom  he  hadn't  seen  for  weeks.  He 
had  just  left  the  hospital,  and  any  one  could  read 
discouragement  in  his  crestfallen  face. 

"Hullo!    What's  the  matter?" 

Vechaud  let  loose  the  litany  of  his  customary 
lamentation.  Then  he  emptied  the  knapsack  of 
his  heart  down  to  the  bottom.  The  great  fear 
that  was  worrying  him  was  that  his  future  might 
be  compromised. 

"Why?" 

His  place  as  clerk  of  a  sous-prefecture  had 
been  taken.  A  wounded  and  discharged  soldier 
had  been  in  his  chair  at  Mortagne  for  six  months ; 
and  when  he,  Vechaud,  went  back,  were  they  going 
to  chuck  the  unlucky  man  out?  Never;  it  would 
be  an  injustice,  anyway.  There  was  a  chance  then 
that  it  might  be  he  who  would  find  himself  on  the 
pavement,  with  no  references — a  pitiful  auxiliary, 
atoning  for  the  crime  of  not  having  been  under  fire : 

"So, — haven't  you  heard?  Well,  I'm  going  to 
make  a  request,  and  there'll  be  a  recommendation 
behind  it " 


The  Wind  of  Fortune         425 

"A  request  for  what?" 

"To  get  into  the  Flying  Corps." 

Darboise  looked  at  the  small  and  ungainly  figure, 
with  its  little  formal  movements  of  the  minor 
official : 

"Don't  do  that  silly  thing,  my  lad. " 

"Why  a  silly  thing?" 

"Because  you're  made  for  an  aviator — as  much 
as  I'm  made  for  a  Pope. " 

"One  begins  as  an  observer. " 

"You're  no  more  fit  for  observer  than  pilot. 
You're  an  office  man.  Stick  to  your  job.  It 
would  be  too  stupid  to  go  and  get  yourself  killed 
without  the  least  advantage  to  any  one,  when  the 
war's  already  lasted  two  years  and  when  there'll 
be  so  many  of  your  sort  missing  when  peace 
is  declared!" 

But  Vechaud  spoke  still,  with  bowed  head,  of 
his  ruined  career.  Here  was  another  poor  man  in 
peril!  Jean  recalled  that  August  morning  when 
Gandolphe's  reproach  had  scattered  his  own 
frenzy — "You  are  alive,  your  four  limbs  are 
intact.  God!  Why,  the  future  is  in  your 
hands!" 

So  he  showed  Vechaud  in  a  clear  light  the  re- 
blossoming  of  the  world  tomorrow,  the  revenge 
they  would  take  from  destiny,  the  success  that  was 
certain  to  men  of  good  intent.  Why  limit  his 
ambitions  to  the  poor  living  of  an  office  stool? 
Why  not  use  this  chance  of  escaping  from  it,  on 
the  contrary,  and  try  his  luck  in  larger  spheres? 


426  A  Life  at  Stake 

Jean  exhorted  him  to  such  purpose  that  the  other 
seemed  disposed  to  put  off  his  project: 
"Ah,  if  we  saw  each  other  oftener!" 
"Why,  come  then,  tonight.     I've  some  friends 
who'll  be  delighted  to  know  you. " 

He  told  Gandolphe,  who  approved  warmly; 
still  another  to  be  rescued!  To  begin  with,  one 
might  find  a  way  of  getting  his  job  changed;  he 
would  have  to  speak  to  the  mayor  about  it. 


Jean's  rapid  glance  skimmed  the  black-edged 
card,  and  he  started : 

"We  regret  to  inform  you  of  the  sad  loss  we 
have  sustained  in  the  death  of  Madame  Therese- 
Louise  Chinard,  nee  Travers.  " 

Chinard's  mother!  He  saw  her  again  in  her 
grey  cap,  but  still  young  in  spirit,  her  son's  true 
friend  and  indeed  his  only  one.  When  they  all 
used  to  dine  together,  dessert  would  find  her 
merrily  lighting  a  cigarette,  while  the  sallies  she 
threw  into  the  chatter  yielded  in  assurance  to  no 
one's. 

Who  would  have  dreamed  she  was  ill?  Jean 
had  just  once  heard  mention  of  some  affection  of 
the  heart — and  now  she  had  gone!  Darboise  re- 
called particularly,  that  April  morning,  the  day  of 
his  departure  for  Dunkerque,  when  Andree  and  he 
went  to  the  Chinards'  in  the  Rue  Franklin.  Who 
would  have  thought  that  but  six  months  later  one 
so  full  of  life ! 


The  Wind  of  Fortune         427 

And  he  put  things  together  like  this :  an  affection 
of  the  heart,  and  the  shock  of  her  son's  recent 
reverse — it  was  possible.  He  thought  of  the  blow 
it  would  be  to  his  old  comrade,  alone,  overwhelmed, 
sobbing — she  was  so  much  to  him.  Jean  was 
sincerely  compassionate.  He  was  gratefully 
touched,  too,  by  the  sending  of  that  card,  which 
seemed  like  an  invitation  to  renew  their  ties  of 
yore. 

Ah,  Jean  knew  it  now,  that  pleasure  Gandolphe 
so  often  talked  about,  of  making  the  first  advance 
with  proffered  hand  to  those  who  have  hurt  you. 
That  same  evening  he  wrote  a  long  and  affectionate 
letter  to  Chinard,  and  four  days  later  a  touching 
epistle  came  to  him  in  response. 


CHAPTER  III 
JEAN'S  PLEA  FOR  HIS  FRIEND 

"WHAT  about  your  leave,  now?" 

"I'm  not  taking  it." 

"A  mistake,  perhaps. " 

As  Jean  was  silent,  the  sergeant  tried  to  raise 
bright  and  encouraging  visions  for  him.  Darboise 
broke  in:  "It's  futile.  You're  a  witness  that  I've 
tried  everything. " 

He  spoke  deliberately.  He  recalled  the  series 
of  overtures  which  had  every  time  been  checked. 
The  sergeant  was  wrong  about  his  wife.  Her 
attachment  to  him  was  only  a  trifling  sentiment: 

"She  loves  you!" 

"  More's  the  pity.  I  love  her  no  longer.  Liter- 
ally, she  has  become  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
me,"  he  insisted. 

"And— your  child?" 

' '  For  his  sake  only,  I  cannot  forget  the  mother, 
nor  forgive  her.  To  leave  me  without  word  of  my 
son,  as  if  I  were  a  lost  father,  it's — scandalous.  I 
shall  take  it  to  law — as  soon  as  the  war  is  over — 
perhaps  before.  I  shall  require  that  the  custody 
of  the  child  is  shared. " 

428 


Jean's  Plea  for  his  Friend      429 

His  tone  sounded  disguised,  and  Gandolphe 
shook  his  head: 

"I  tell  you  that  you  still  love  her. " 
"This  time  you're  wrong,  my  friend. " 
Darboise's  voice  and  gesture  had  suddenly  be- 
come strong  and  decided : 

"No — I've  crossed  her  out  of  my  future.  For- 
tunately, you've  made  me  see  reasons  for  living, 
other  than — than — one's  home.  I'm  going  to 
inscribe  myself  as  an  ordinary  and  industrious 
workman  in  the  great  cause.  That's  how  I'll 
furnish  my  life!"  He  smiled:  "Mark  what  I 
say!" 

And  Gandolphe  wondered  if  this  attitude  of 
detachment  concealed  real  serenity  or  the  most 
heartbroken  despair. 


But  Jean  was  still  moved  by  the  affectionate 
importunity  of  the  friend  who  never  left  a  stone 
unturned  to  clear  the  way  for  him.  On  his  ad- 
vice, too,  Trousselier  had  just  entered  his  name 
for  admission  to  the  "re-education"  school  at 
Caen. 

Darboise  was  worried  by  a  remorseful  doubt 
whether  he  was  discharging  his  debt!  Their 
visits  to  the  d'Estignards  had  been  resumed  and 
become  regular.  They  lunched  at  the  villa  every 
Sunday.  In  such  conditions,  ought  he  to  be 
discouraged  at  the  first  mishap?  Jean  recalled 
the  old  man's  confidences  and  the  young  lady's 


430  A  Life  at  Stake 

words.  As  for  his  friend's  feelings,  he  had  not 
the  slightest  doubt.  Perhaps  they  had  both 
placed  some  sort  of  hope  in  him! 

One  day,  observing  that  Gandolphe  was  pensive, 
he  said,  point-blank : 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  cousin  Sylvame?" 

"That  she's — accomplished. " 

"To  the  extent — that  you  would  like  to  share 
your  life  with  her?" 

"As  long  as  you  know  it — !"  murmured  the 
sergeant. 

"I  was  waiting — for  you  to  speak  to  me  about 
her." 

"And  I — I  imagined  that  you  were  avoiding 
the  subject." 

"What  reason  could  I  have  had?" 

"Thinking  that  I  should  do  better  to  dismiss 
such  ideas!" 

"Listen,"  said  Jean,  who  had  an  obscure 
feeling  of  penitence,  "I  can't  say  that  I'm  posi- 
tively certain  yet,  but  I  shouldn't  be  at  all  sur- 
prised  ' 

He  narrated  in  detail  the  conversations  of  the 
past  month,  and  Gandolphe  drank  in  his  words : 

"But  she — she?  It's  her  opinion — that 
counts 

"She?  I  can  answer  for  her  sympathy,  and 
better,  for  her  admiration  of  you.  " 

Darboise  did  not  fear  they  were  making  no 
progress.  He  remembered  that  discussion  last 
Sunday  at  Malo  when  the  question  was  raised  of 


Jean's  Plea  for  his  Friend      431 

the  recovery  of  France  after  the  trials  of  the 
moment.  The  sergeant  had  warmed  up  as  he 
glorified  that  work  of  the  future  which  would 
redeem  the  present.  His  eyes  shone  with  faith 
and  hope — how  fine  he  was!  He  seemed  to  lead 
the  d'Estignards  on  and  almost  rally  them  to  his 
arguments.  Sylvaine  especially  had  seemed  moved 
by  his  eloquence,  perhaps  to  the  point  of  realising 
that  such  moral  greatness  in  the  balance  made  up 
for  all. 

Jean  added : 

' '  Old  man,  there's  a  way  to  settle  it.  Ask  her — 
that's  all.  Will  you  agree  for  me  to  take  it  on  ? " 

"I'm  afraid — it's  so  much  to  me.  You  see, 
this — this  feeling — it's  got  me — so  profoundly. 
I  beg  you — it  would  be  better — to  wait  a  little 
while  yet — until  my — until  my  position  is 
decided." 

"Your  position?"  Jean  asked  in  surprise. 

The  sergeant  explained.  A  notice  had  lately 
appeared.  The  "auxiliaries  for  eyesight"  must 
be  re-examined  by  specialists,  the  regulations 
affecting  them  having  been  modified. 

"But  I  thought  you  were  in  the  Auxiliary  for 
emphysema?" 

"My  squad-book  says,  'For  eyesight." 

"Do  you  think  you'll  really  be  passed  for  the 
armed  service?" 

"I  know  that  Fauvel  would  like  nothing  so 
much." 

Darboise  shrugged  his  shoulders : 


432  A  Life  at  Stake 

"No;  I  can't  see  'em  sending  you  into  the 
trenches,  with  your  breathing  and  eyesight,  and 
at  your  age, — forty-one?" 

The  sergeant  blushed:  " Forty- two. " 


Jean  had  willingly  promised  him  to  postpone 
his  overtures.  But  in  his  brotherly  impatience, 
and  without  telling  Gandolphe,  he  took  the  tram 
to  Malo  the  very  next  day.  When  Sylvaine  joined 
him  in  the  drawing-room : 

"Alone?  "he  said. 

"And  you  too,  alone?" 

"More's  the  pity,  eh?" 

"Delighted  to  see  you " 

"Wouldn't  you  rather  there  were  two  of  us?" 

"Why  should  I?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  it  disconcerted 
him  to  see  in  them  what  he  took  for  a  reflection  of 
that  obscure  distress  which  he  had  missed  in  them 
for  some  time  now.  They  exchanged  a  few  sen- 
tences, and  then  the  conversation  languished;  a 
bad  start,  he  thought.  But  as  long  as  he  had 
come  on  purpose —  Besides,  why,  she  must  more 
than  once  have  searched  her  own  heart,  and  no 
doubt  she  had  reached  a  decision ! 

Boldly  Jean  broached  his  subject.  He  knew  a 
good  fellow,  a  man  with  a  noble  heart,  who  had 
long  since  fallen  passionately  in  love  with  her. 
She  knew  to  whom  he  was  referring.  Would  she 
give  her  assent ? 


Jean's  Plea  for  his  Friend      433 

Sylvaine  remained  silent.  When  he  repeated 
the  question : 

"It's  not  the  right  day, "  she  said. 

"How's  that?"  he  asked;  and  then,  inclined  to 
take  offence,  "Don't  jest!"  he  cried. 

"I  assure  you,  this  is  not  the  right  day " 

"Sylvaine,  if  he  were  here  himself;  if  he  were 
imploring  you — today — to  give  him  your  answer, 
would  it  be  yes  or  no?" 

"Today?     I  don't  know." 

"Seriously?" 

"Today,  I  say." 

Jean  got  impatient.  Did  it  mean  a  contem- 
plated refusal,  or  was  it  merely  feminine  coquet- 
tishness — even  in  so  grave  a  matter?  His  mouth 
hardened  as  he  went  on : 

"Is  that— what  I  must  tell  him?" 

"Certainly." 

The  young  girl's  face  had  become  clouded,  and 
reserved;  and  just  then  Jean  was  amazed  by  her 
likeness  to  Andree — to  Andr6e  as  he  pictured  her 
today. 

"In  short,  then,  it's — no?" 

"If  you  like." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  go.  Madame 
d'Estignard  met  him  and  tried  in  vain  to  make  him 
stay.  She  went  with  him  to  the  door : 

"Come  again  soon,"  she  said,  "with  M.  Gan- 
dolphe.  You're  the  only  two  who  distract  Syl- 
vaine. In  these  days,  with " 

"Yes?    With ?" 


434  A  Life  at  Stake 

"The  ideas  that  she's  getting  again! " 

"What  ideas?" 

"It's  the  time,  you  know,  two  years  ago — when 
she  stopped  getting  letters  from  her  fiance. 
And  today — it's  the  anniversary,  you  understand, 
— of  the  news." 

Jean  departed.  He  regretted  the  tragic  coinci- 
dence and  his  abortive  errand ;  but  after  all  it  was 
doubtless  better  not  to  have  been  incited  to  slender 
hopes.  He  had  felt  that  love  was  wanting  in  the 
girl's  heart — such  love  as  his  friend  deserved ! 

His  first  thought  was  to  give  an  account  to 
Gandolphe  without  waiting  an  hour.  Then  when 
he  met  him  face  to  face  he  dared  not  inflict  on  him 
the  shock  of  his  disappointment.  And  during  the 
week  which  followed  the  sergeant  hardly  left  him,  as 
though  he  were  watching  him  to  find  out  exactly 
when  he  was  going  to  carry  out  his  commission. 


That  evening  Darboise  was  in  a  hurry  to  see 
Gandolphe  again  and  question  him.  The  after- 
noon's affair  was  running  in  his  mind,  and  Gaze- 
nave  had  come  to  the  Port  to  find  the  sergeant, 
who  was  wanted  at  the  Bureau  to  sign  something ! 

Without  even  going  home  first,  Jean  called  at 
his  friend's  in  the  Rue  Jean  Bart  and  found  him 
out.  Going  home  again  to  the  Rue  Jules  Ferry, 
he  was  joined  by  Gandolphe.  The  sergeant  was 
greatly  agitated,  and  cried : 

' '  Something's  happened ! ' ' 


Jean's  Plea  for  his  Friend      435 

"What?" 

"  My  two  babies,  my  little  ones- 


The  sergeant  held  out  a  telegram  covered  with 
stamps  and  obliterations.  Jean  picked  out  the 
writing  aloud  : 

"Old  civilian  called  Jules  Lefebvre  evacuated 
Zurich  October  15  with  little  boy  and  girl  might 
be  children  of  Gandolphe  professor  Arras  please 
advise  father  immediately. " 

The  signature  which  followed  was  that  of  the 
French  Consul  at  Zurich.  As  the  telegram  had 
been  bandied  about  at  the  Foreign  Office,  at 
G.  H.  Q.,  and  at  the  Depot,  a  letter  of  explanation 
had  had  time  to  overtake  it,  and  by  a  strange  coin- 
cidence was  delivered  by  the  same  mail.  The 
sergeant  drew  from  the  envelope  a  photograph 
that  bore  the  seal  of  the  Red  Cross : 

"It's  they,"  he  said:  "Look." 

His  hand  and  his  voice  were  trembling.  In 
spite  of  their  ailing  looks,  the  childish  faces  dis- 
played the  resemblance  to  their  father  in  their 
decided  chins  and  prominent  foreheads.  In 
astonishment  Jean  said : 

"  Your  likeness!    What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I'm  starting  this  evening.  The  captain  has 
just  signed  my  leave-paper. " 

"He  made  no  difficulty  about  it?" 

"Yes,  he  did — and  advised  me  not  to  risk  the 
overstaying  trick. " 

Darboise  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Was  it  possi- 
ble not  to  dislike  these  people? 


436  A  Life  at  Stake 

"And  where  do  you  expect  to  meet  them?" 

"Read.  They'll  bring  them  as  far  as  the 
frontier." 

Jean  went  on:  "Ah,  those  little  ones  that  you 
have  mourned  for ! ' ' 

"It's  timely  that  they're  restored  to  me!" 

The  same  thought  must  have  crossed  both  their 
minds.  The  sergeant  added : 

"This  changes  everything." 

"How — everything?"  Darboise  was  pretend- 
ing not  to  understand. 

"All — my  plans."  Gandolphe  cleared  his 
throat:  "Those  things,  you  know — that  we  were 
outlining,  the  other  night.  "  And  as  Jean  nodded 
his  head,  he  went  on : 

"Yes.  It's  no  longer  worth  while — I've  con- 
sidered it — to  worry  that  girl.  A  widower  of  my 
age,  with  two  children  already — I  shall  have 
enough  to  do  to  bring  them  up.  Besides 

His  voice  fell:  "Besides,  even  without  that,  I 
don't  know — I  can't  think — that  it  would  have 
come  off " 

Darboise  wanted  to  protest,  but  could  not 
get  a  word  out.  Then,  with  an  obvious  effort, 
Gandolphe  said : 

"You  went,  didn't  you — to  Malo?" 

"ToMalo?" 

"Yes — a  week  ago.  Tell  me — what  they  said 
to  you.  I  can  stand  it — now. "  His  hand  closed 
tightly  on  the  photograph :  ' '  Now  that  I  have  this 
compensation!" 


Jean's  Plea  for  his  Friend       437 

Jean  saw  through  the  outrageous  fib.  He  re- 
counted the  late  scene,  hiding  nothing  of  the 
truth,  but  only  glossing  it  over,  and  emphasised 
that  he  had  got  no  definite  reply,  that  Sylvaine 
was  apparently  holding  herself  back  for  further 
thought. 

"Yes,  yes."  Gandolphe  sighed:  "What  would 
have  became  of  me,  I  wonder,  if  they  had  not  been 
restored  to  me!" 

Smiling,  he  tried  to  caress  the  delicate  twin 
picture;  but  such  a  heart-broken  look  showed  in 
his  features  that  Jean  was  seized  with  compassion. 
His  friend,  that  loftier  soul,  deprived  of  the  con- 
solation that  the  sweetness  of  a  loving  face  pro- 
vides! Both  of  them  smitten  alike!  Ah,  how 
evilly  the  world  was  made ! 

Darboise  went  with  the  sergeant  to  the  station, 
and  they  walked  side  by  side.  The  autumnal 
twilight  was  dappling  the  sky  above  the  grey 
houses  with  mauve  and  violet.  They  exchanged 
a  few  random  sentences.  When  did  Gandolphe 
expect  to  arrive  at  Bellegarde?  The  morning  of 
the  next  day  but  one,  at  the  earliest.  What  was 
he  going  to  do  with  the  children  ?  Probably  en- 
trust them  to  a  cousin  who  lived  at  Le  Mans. 
But  mightn't  he  ask  to  be  with  them  again  himself? 
Wasn't  it  his  legal  right,  after  so  many  months 
passed  in  the  war  zone?  Yes,  unless  the  coming 
Commission  put  him  back  into  the  armed  service.  " 

Suddenly  the  sergeant  said : 

"Ah,  forgive  me!     I  forgot  to  tell  you  of  a 


438  A  Life  at  Stake 

letter  I've  had  from  Maupeou.  He  wants  to 
know  if  you're  contented  at  Dunkerque;  and 
desires  me  to  tell  you  that,  if  required,  he  would 
pledge  himself  to  get  you  sent  back. " 
' '  I  only  want  to  be  where  you  are. ' ' 
Both  were  clinging  in  their  sorrow  to  their 
friendship,  the  only  profit,  in  sum,  of  their  three 
months'  endeavours.  Stoically,  they  tried  to  com- 
fort themselves  with  the  balance-sheet  of  the  profit 
they  had  made  for  others.  A  letter  had  arrived 
the  day  before  from  Caen,  where  the  blind  man 
was  gleefully  congratulating  himself  on  the  pro- 
gress he  was  recording  in  the  art  of  making  up 
horsehair.  Lavigne  had  read  them  a  note  from 
his  brother-in-law,  who  was  getting  ready  to  travel 
to  Paris  to  confer  with  Quinton  in  the  matter  of 
a  dispensary.  Mafranc  had  left  the  hospital. 
Though  dumbfounded  to  hear  of  his  wife's  action 
against  him  for  divorce,  he  seemed  disposed  not  to 
dispute  it. 

As  they  drew  near  the  station,  where  the  train 
from  Paris  had  just  come  in,  they  met  the  flying 
exodus  of  newsboys : 

"Great  Victory  at  Verdun!" 
Verdun!    Jean  bought  a  paper,   which  bore, 
as  its  second  head-line:  "Douaumont  and  Vaux 
Retaken  in  a  Day. " 

' '  Come  now !     They  shan't  have  them ! " 
"Perhaps  it's  the  beginning  of  better  days!" 
And  thus  they  exhorted  each  other.     The  end 
of  the  nightmare  appearing,  a  new  dawn  on  the 


Jean's  Plea  for  his  Friend      439 

point  of  breaking,  a  noble  work  awaiting  them — 
to  pave  a  way  for  humanity  towards  a  better 
era.  Alas!  At  that  moment  they  were  like  old 
lovers  repeating  to  each  other  the  vows  in  which 
they  had  ceased  to  believe,  like  poets  who  no 
longer  hail  themselves  as  geniuses.  What  a 
thing  remote  was  the  happiness  of  mankind  when 
their  own  was  becoming  a  chimera!  They  were 
only  lukewarm  tasks  now  offered  to  their  high- 
minded  enthusiasm.  Resignation  is  wisdom's 
saddest  victory ! 


Fate  has  unforeseen  caprices !  While  his  friend 
was  away,  Jean  received  an  invitation  for  them 
both  to  dine  at  Malo.  He  sent  back  a  note 
excusing  himself.  But  M.  d'Estignard  turned  up 
in  person  and  insisted:  Dr.  Alquier  was  going  to 
be  there. 

Jean's  hand  was  forced,  and  he  went.  Fortu- 
nately the  surgeon  was  in  animated  vein  and 
helped  the  evening  on  by  talking  and  telling  a 
hundred  stories.  Darboise  was  silent;  over  him 
and  Sylvaine  hovered  the  bitter  memory  of  their 
recent  conversation.  But  when  questioned  on 
the  subject  of  Gandolphe  he  had  no  option  but  to 
repeat  the  story  he  had  already  told  his  host  the 
day  before,  the  miracle  of  the  children  found  again. 

' '  What  times  we  live  in ! " 

The  surgeon  confirmed  it  that  the  sergeant  had 
now  the  right  to  leave  the  war  zone. 


440  A  Life  at  Stake 

"Unless  the  Commission  plays  a  trick  on  him, " 
said  Jean. 

"What, — is  he  going  for  re-examination?" 

"Yes." 

"Bah!  They're  not  so  hard  on  the  old  'tins  as 
that!" 

Darboise  found  the  expression  annoying,  for 
Sylvaine  was  close  to  him.  She  had  seemed  lost  in 
a  dream  since  the  beginning  of  the  meal. 

When  the  coffee  was  served,  Sylvaine  led  him 
aside  to  a  corner  of  the  verandah : 

"Cousin, — you  spoke  to  me  the  other  day — I 
hardly  know  what  I  answered;  I've  thought  about 
it  since.  Your  friend ' ' 

Darboise,  disquieted,  repeated: 

"MyfriendGandolphe ?" 

"If  it's  he, — if  you  think  he  may  be  still  in  the 
same  mind " 

As  much  moved  as  if  the  revelation  had  con- 
cerned himself,  Jean  stammered : 

' '  Sylvaine,  before  he  went  away  he  told  me  that 
he'd  given  up  hope;  how  he  saw  clearly  and 
especially  that  with  such  domestic  responsi- 
bility  " 

"The  children?" 

"Yes." 

"It's  because  of  them — or  rather,  it's  the 
thought  of  them  that  has  made  me  decide." 

Under  the  tall  palm-tree  that  drooped  in 
mourning  for  the  absent  sun,  with  her  pure  and 
candid  eyes  fixed  on  Jean,  Sylvaine  opened  her 


Jean's  Plea  for  his  Friend      441 

heart.  Since  the  day  before,  since  her  father  had 
brought  the  news,  she  had  reached  the  crisis ;  and 
determination  had  sprung  from  her  search  into  her 
conscience.  Her  road  was  there,  traced  plainly 
before  her,  and  she  would  choose  it — rather  than 
the  mournful  lot,  the  restricted  life  of  the  old 
maid !  Surely,  since  it  was  in  her  power  to  help 
to  rebuild  a  home  and  restore  a  little  happiness 
to  three  severely  stricken  people!  Besides,  she 
assured  him,  she  would  be  very  proud  of  the  task 
which  awaited  her  as  the  associate  of  a  man  like 
that  in  the  work  of  regeneration ! 


The  sergeant's  first  words,  when  he  got  back, 

rejected  his  good  fortune: 

"My  poor  old  fellow,  you're  dreaming!" 
When  Darboise  had  repeated  word  for  word 

what  Sylvaine  had  said 

"Too  great  a  sacrifice!     I  can't  accept  that," 

the  sergeant  said. 

"And  /  tell  you  that  she's  waiting  for  you." 
In  his  flurry,  the  other  renewed  his  scruples: 
"Before  I  went  there,  I  would  rather  have  been 

before  this  Commission.     If,  by  chance,   I  had 

to  go  away ' 

' '  Do  you  think  that  would  make  any  difference  ? ' ' 

The  very  next  day  Jean  took  him  to  Malo. 

At  the  villa,  they  found  Sylvaine  alone.     She 

did  away  at  once  with  all   embarrassment  by 

saying : 


442  A  Life  at  Stake 

"It's  'yes,'  and  she  offered  her  hand  to  the 
sergeant. 

"And — your  parents?"  he  asked. 

"They 're  willing." 

In  a  mutual  pressure  of  the  hand  they  were 
bound  to  each  other.  Serious  and  tender,  Syl- 
vaine  immediately  asked  what  must  be  done 
with — with  "our  children." 

"It's  like  a  dream, "  Gandolphe  murmured. 

The  feeling  that  Darboise  had,  as  the  tears 
came  into  his  eyes,  was  something  like  happiness ; 
but  suddenly  he  compared  the  scene  with  another 
in  which  he  had  played  a  part,  and  they  were  tears 
of  bitterness  which  escaped  him. 

At  night,  just  as  Gandolphe  was  leaving  Jean, 
he  said : 

"I  shall  do  the  same  for  you." 

As  Jean  shook  his  head,  with  an  air  of  sadness 
and  misgiving,  the  sergeant  repeated: 

"Yes,  yes,  I  shall.  I  shall  do  the  same  for  you, 
I  promise  you." 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   DISASTER 

THE  days  which  followed  were  marked  by  a 
return  of  the  Taubes.  When  they  had  finished 
their  hellish  rounds,  there  were  twenty-seven  dead 
and  a  hundred  and  three  wounded. 


443 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS 

GRINDING  under  the  brakes,  the  train  slowed 
down  and  entered  the  station.  On  the  platform 
were  two  non-coms.,  scanning  the  faces  at  the 
windows. 

"I  see  her — in  front,  in  front!" 

Gandolphe  did  not  know  her;  he  had  recognised 
her  only  by  a  certain  likeness.  They  hastened 
to  the  front  of  the  train. 

Andree  had  already  got  out,  with  her  little 
yellow  valise  in  her  hand.  There  was  no  need 
of  introduction.  As  soon  as  she  saw  Lavigne: 

"Well?"  she  said  to  the  two  men.  Her  voice 
faltered,  and  anguish  was  written  on  her  face. 

"Alive?  Alive?"  She  felt  her  legs  giving  way 
under  her,  and  feared  that  she  would  fall. 

' '  Living  ?     So  much — yes. ' ' 

"A  bomb?"  she  breathed. 

"A  bomb." 

"My  God!" 

As  they  approached  the  exit,  Lavigne  timidly 
asked  her  what  papers  she  had. 

"A  permit  from  the  Chief  of  Police.     That's 

444 


The  Unexpected  Happens     445 

all.  On  the  way  I  had  only  to  show  this  tele- 
gram." 

She  showed  it  to  them,  all  creased  and  crushed 
by  the  fevered  hand  which  did  not  let  it  go  all 
night. 

They  went  out,  and  Lavigne  left  them  to  resume 
his  duties.  No  tram  was  waiting  in  the  station 
square. 

"Shall  we  wait?     Or  walk?"  Gandolphe  asked. 

"Walk!" 

They  went  towards  the  steps  which  open  on  to 
the  Mardyck  road. 

"Will  he— know  me?" 

"I  hope  so." 

For  a  long  time,  those  were  the  only  words 
exchanged. 

She  walked  at  a  pace  which  the  sergeant  could 
hardly  maintain.  One  would  have  said  that  she 
was  under  hypnotic  influence,  with  her  irregular 
step,  her  staring  eyes,  and  bloodless  lips.  And 
indeed  she  had  had  only  a  half -mechanical  know- 
ledge of  herself  since  the  thunderbolt  of  the  night 
before — when  that  telegram  came. 

Though  she  had  only  just  glanced  at  it,  she  had 
barely  the  strength  left  to  offer  it  to  her  mother, 
and  straightway  fell  into  an  armchair;  for  the  text 
was  appallingly  laconic : 

"Your  husband  wounded  in  danger  asking  for 
you — Gandolphe. " 

In  a  flash  she  had  pictured  the  agony  of  the  life 
yonder  under  the  constant  menace  of  air-raids. 


446  A  Life  at  Stake 

To  think  that,  a  week  ago,  a  little  paragraph 
headed  "A  Zeppelin  at  Dunkerque"  had  impressed 
her  so  much  that  she  had  begun  to  write  the 
answer  to  Jean  which  was  several  weeks  overdue! 
But  having  made  out  a  rough  draft,  she  had  let  it 
lie,  counting  on  resuming  it  some  day  soon ! 

And  during  the  delay  due  to  caprice,  this  had 
happened ! 

Her  hasty  departure  and  the  fourteen  hours  in 
the  train  had  left  only  a  confused  memory.  She 
had  been  conscious  of  neither  hunger — she  had 
eaten  nothing  since  the  night  before — nor  fatigue. 
All  her  mind  was  concentrated  on  the  frenzied 
thought — would  she  reach  him  in  time? 

At  the  first  houses  of  St.  Pol,  she  questioned  her 
guide: 

"Where  are  we  going?" 

"To  my  place." 

"Is  he— there?" 

Gandolphe  said:  "You'll  see  him. " 

She  seemed  plunged  in  a  nightmare,  and  nothing 
made  her  wonder. 

In  the  middle  of  the  town,  when  the  sergeant 
turned  into  the  Rue  Jean-Bart,  she  asked : 

"Is  it  far  yet?" 

"We're  there." 

Soon  he  stopped:  "It's  here. " 

Andree  looked  with  expressionless  eyes  at  the 
little  brick  house.  She  thought  she  could  see 
already  the  funereal  hangings  which  would  be 
draping  the  door  tomorrow,  and  the  idea  was 


The  Unexpected  Happens     447 

so  painful  that  she  shut  her  eyes  again,  and  nearly 
fell. 

The  sergeant  supported  her  and  she  rallied 
again.  Behind  him  she  climbed  the  stairs. 

Entering  the  upper  room,  her  eyes  went  at  once 
to  the  bed,  where  she  expected  to  see  the  dying  man. 

"He's  not  here?" 

"Not  yet." 

"They're  going  to  bring  him ?" 

"You  will  see  him. " 

Some  minutes  went  by.  Gandolphe  had  placed 
a  chair  for  her,  and  she  sank  exhausted  into  it. 
Oh,  the  distress  of  waiting  in  those  unknown 
lodgings,  and  the  horror  of  saying  to  herself: 
"It's  in  such  surroundings  that  the  news — what 
news? — will  be  brought  me!" 

So  depressing  Andree  found  it  that  she  tried  to 
talk — to  brave  the  sound  of  her  own  voice : 

"When  did  it  happen?" 

"Yesterday — morning. " 

"Taubes?" 

"Taubes." 

"He  didn't  take  shelter  then?" 

"They  say  that  he  deliberately  exposed  him- 
self." 

Andree  felt  as  though  a  vice  was  closing  on  her 
heart.  Instinct  told  her  that  this  grave  and  sor- 
rowful soldier  knew  the  whole  of  their  calamity. 
This,  no  doubt,  was  Jean's  great  friend,  of  whom 
he  had  said  so  much  in  his  last  letter,  the  trusted 
messenger  who  went  to  Sceaux. 


448  A  Life  at  Stake 

"It's  a  long  time!"  she  sighed. 

Two  minutes  later,  she  stood  up  in  feverish 
impatience : 

"Take  me  there.  I  must — I  want  to  see  him — 
where  he  is. " 

Gandolphe  shook  his  head:  "Impossible. " 

"Why?" 

"They  wouldn't  admit  you. " 

"Is  he — is  there  a  hospital?"  A  thought 
flashed  across  her  mind : 

"An  operation — perhaps  ? " 

"May  they  pull  him  through!"  the  sergeant 
murmured. 

She  sat  down  again.  In  a  vision  she  saw  the 
surgeon's  knife  in  that  youthful  body  which  once 
she  had  besought  Fate  so  earnestly  to  preserve  to 
her.  This  was  the  second  time  already  that 
German  steel  had  torn  his  fragile  body.  He  was 
once  more  wounded — and  whose  was  the  harshness 
that  had  caused  it  ? 

Andree  was  wrung  with  remorse,  borne  down  by 
a  conviction  that  he  was  going  to  die.  Ah,  God ! 
Would  he  die  with  rebellion  in  his  heart  and  his 
curse  on  her? 

Yet  some  words  in  the  telegram  came  back  to 
her  memory : 

"Is  it  true  that — he  asked  for  me?" 

"Quite  true." 

"He  often  spoke  of  me?" 

"Of  no  one  but  you. " 

Her  emotion  was  too  much  for  her;  and  hiding 


The  Unexpected  Happens     449 

her  face  in  her  hands,  such  a  convulsion  of  sorrow 
shook  her  that  Gandolphe  at  last  departed  from 
his  frigid  attitude.  He  went  and  sat  by  her: 

"Alas!"  he  said  gently:  "Why  didn't  you  come 
back  to  him?" 

She  could  not  answer,  but  her  sobs  answered 
for  her  overpowering  regret.  He  went  on : 

"Your  husband!  The  father  of  your  child! 
For  a  passing  mistake!  When  there  is  so  much 
trouble  in  the  world,  and  when  he  was  so  peni- 
tent!" 

He  continued,  in  little  sentences  that  had  no 
savour  of  the  preacher.  He  told  her  the  simple 
facts — Jean's  despair  after  she  had  fled,  the  follies 
into  which  he  slid,  his  "affair"  at  the  Textile,  his 
illness,  the  mortally  imminent  risk  he  had  run. 

"Since  then,  I  had  begun  to  hope  for  him  again. 
We  were  summoning  the  beautiful  and  noble  things 
of  life;  and  then — for  that  was  not  enough  by 
itself — I  tried  to  persuade  him  that  one  day  there 
would  be  a  reconciliation  between  you,  that  your 
bitterness  and  mistrust  would  not  last  for  ever — 
if  you  loved  him.  It  was  on  his  account,  two 
months  ago,  that  I  attempted  to  see  you.  I 
was  to  send  him  a  wire.  What  a  disappointment 
he  had!  And  from  that  time,  alas,  I've  noticed 
him  falling  gradually  back  into  that  accursed 
melancholy  from  which  we  had  saved  him  once. 
I've  not  given  up  yet.  It  was  on  my  urgent 
advice  that  he  wrote  that  letter  again;  and  he's 
waited,  waited " 

39 


450  A  Life  at  Stake 

This  summary  was  in  effect  almost  an  indict- 
ment of  her.  And  y et  sh  e  would  not  have  dreamed 
of  protesting  against  it — the  sergeant  seemed  so 
far  from  seeking  to  overwhelm  her.  He  went 
on;  and  on  the  contrary,  a  sort  of  serene  com- 
passion was  evident  in  his  words.  Death  was  the 
only  evil,  he  repeated.  In  face  of  death,  let  us 
value  life  to  the  utmost,  that  inestimably  good 
thing, — life,  that  passing  stage  that  was  already 
too  short  for  love  and  consolation. 

"How  true  that  is!" 

Under  this  hovering  flight  of  death  which  per- 
haps was  about  to  pounce  on  her  Jean  and  tear 
him  away  from  her,  Andree  felt  her  heart  breaking. 
How  paltry  her  grievances  were  at  this  time 
when  mourning  swept  across  the  world!  Her 
head  fell.  What  emotion  rent  her  to  know  how 
her  husband  had  suffered,  that  when  deprived  of 
her,  he  had  ceased  to  find  the  least  sweetness  in 
life!  How  could  she  have  withheld  so  obstinately 
the  hand  of  forgiveness?  She  reddened  at  the 
thought.  Could  she  retrieve  the  wrongs  on  her 
side? 

"How  angry  he  must  be  with  me!"  she  said. 

"Now  and  then,"  said  the  sergeant,  "it's 
true  he  got  stirred  up  to  the  point  of  blasphemy. 
He  declared  that  his  mind  was  made  up,  and 
that  he  would  merely  go  to  law  to  get ' 

She  was  listening,  distracted.  He  waited  a 
little,  and  then  said : 

"Idle  words,    those!    /   could   read   his   own 


The  Unexpected  Happens     451 

heart  better  than  he  could;  and  I  read  that  he 
loved  you  too  much,  that  his  bitterness  was  forced, 
and  that  as  soon  as  misfortune  fell  on  you " 

' '  Alas ! ' '  she  thought  aloud :  "  If  only  /  had  been 
wounded  instead ! ' ' 

Some  moments  of  silence  followed.  Gandolphe 
went  to  the  window  and  lifted  the  blind. 

To  shake  off  a  haunting  and  dismal  dread,  she 
went  on. 

"Will  you  swear  it,  eh?" 

"What?" 

"That  it's  not— all  over?" 

"I  swear  it." 

"Shall  we,  all  the  same — go — and  inquire?" 

"Useless!"  he  said  abruptly,  turning  away  from 
the  window. 

"How,  useless?" 

"Here  they  are." 

An  ascending  step  was  heard  on  the  stair. 

With  a  firmness  which  overcame  her,  Gandolphe 
took  her  hand  and  led  her  into  the  next  room: 

' '  You  will  wait — here. ' ' 

He  pulled  the  door  to  after  him,  without  closing 
it  quite.  She  remained  standing,  her  ears  strained 
in  stupefaction.  What  would  she  hear?  Some 
one  knocked,  and  Gandolphe  said: 

"Come  in!" 

And  here  Andree  believed  she  was  dreaming. 
She  leaned  against  the  frame  of  the  doorway. 

"Well,  then?"  the  sergeant  had  said. 

The    newcomer's    voice    was    distorted    with 


452  A  Life  at  Stake 

anguish:  "I'm  starting — what  else  could  I  do? 
With  or  without  leave. " 

She  closed  her  eyes.  That  voice — she  was  as 
sure  as  if  she  had  touched  him — Jean,  her  Jean! 
How  could  it  be  possible? 

"Show   me   the   telegram,"    said   Gandolphe. 

He  took  it  and  read  it  aloud:  "Andree  seized 
appendicitis  very  serious  asking  for  you  come. " 

Darboise  stammered : 

"It's  her  mother  that  signed  it.  And  if  she 
says  Very  serious' — peritonitis,  perhaps!  She's 
going  to  die — Andree !  Andr6e ! ' ' 

"And  you're  starting?" 

" She's  sent  for  me!" 

"It  isn't  all  quite  broken  off  then?" 

"Broken?"  Jean  cried:  "It  can't  be  broken. 
There's  been  no  one  but  her  in  my  life.  If  she — 
disappeared,  I  don't  know  what  would  become  of 
me.  If  only  I  could  kiss  her  and  swear  to  her 
that — !  But  what's  to  be  done?  If  I  could  get  a 
motor-car  as  far  as  Calais " 

Insanity  seemed  to  attack  him,  and  he  turned 
round  on  the  sergeant : 

"You  may  well  stand  calmly  there!  You 
don't  know  how  I  loved  her " 

"What  about  her  hard-heartedness?" 

"I  deserved  it.  I  would  give  twenty  years  of 
life  to  wipe  that  out !  Oh,  tell  me  she  will  not  die ! ' ' 

He  sank  into  a  chair:  "Poor  little  girl — and 
she  thought  of  me!" 


The  Unexpected  Happens     453 

And  then  the  unexpected  happened.  At  the 
sound  of  the  opening  door,  Jean  raised  his  head. 
When  he  saw  her  coming  towards  him,  he  won- 
dered if  he  were  not  the  sport  of  illusion.  Andr6e 
felt  that  she  must  defend  her  presence;  and  pale 
of  face,  without  saying  a  word,  she  handed  him 
the  telegram  she  had  received. 

Jean's  eyes  flashed  over  it.  He  read,  he  looked 
at  her,  he  read  it  again.  He  put  his  own  into  her 
hands.  She  understood,  and  both  turned  to 
Gandolphe. 

He  merely  said:  "Forgive  me  if  I  have  hurt 
you.  It  was  meant  for  the  best." 

The  sergeant  added  no  more,  but  went  out. 
Face  to  face  he  left  them,  who  still  looked  at  each 
other  with  staring  eyes  as  if  upon  apparitions. 

A  moment  of  hesitation  followed,  when  all  the 
forces  of  evil  delivered  their  last  attack.  Bitter- 
ness was  born  again.  Vexation  at  their  deception, 
the  fear  that  they  had  appeared  ridiculous,  and 
many  other  troubles  were  paralysing  the  first 
impulse  of  instinct.  Andree  remembered  her 
reasons  for  hating  this  man.  She  saw  again  the 
little  portrait  of  her  rival  and  its  outrageous 
dedication.  And  he, — in  the  imminent  coldness 
of  her  gaze,  he  thought  he  could  still  read  ob- 
duracy. 

No!  The  recent  shock  had  torn  away  the 
protecting  armour  from  the  grievances  which 
above  all  had  been  built  on  regard  for  public 
opinion.  The  breath  of  passion  and  life,  of 


454  A  Life  at  Stake 

irresistible  attraction,  burst  forth  as  if  from  the 
grave.  They  stood  in  presence  of  each  other, 
those  two  creations  of  Youth,  who,  but  lately 
met,  had  mutually  chosen  before  God  and  man  to 
unite  their  destinies  and  to  lavish  their  happiness 
on  each  other.  And  they  were  truly  that  happi- 
ness themselves,  by  their  union  of  body  and 
soul,  happiness  such  as  they  could  never  have 
enjoyed  with  any  other. 

Their  love  shone  in  their  eyes  as  if  it  were  the 
only  light  in  the  world.  How  far  they  were  from 
having  any  grudge  against  Gandolphe!  Quite 
otherwise,  a  twin  intuition  led  them  to  discern 
the  profound  lesson  which  underlay  the  ingenious 
fraud, — just  the  revelation  of  what  real  good  and 
real  evil  are,  the  discovered  secret  of  human 
wisdom,  which  astonished  and  enraptured  both; 
him,  the  student  of  a  few  months,  her,  the  tyro 
of  today. 

Thus  the  forces  of  life  drew  them  mysteriously 
along.  But  false  pride  still  delayed  the  reconcili- 
ation in  fact.  And  a  minute  had  gone  by.  Which 
should  carry  it  through? 

Gandolphe  was  absent  in  vain; — it  was  he 
again  who  saved  them.  For  Jean,  in  spite  of  all, 
thanks  to  his  friend's  influence,  was  further  along 
the  road  of  progress  than  she.  "Make  the  first 
step,"  he  thought — and  remembered.  So  it  was 
he  who  went  forward  and  said : 

"Andree!"  And  with  a  lover's  violence  she 
came  the  rest  of  the  way 


The  Unexpected  Happens      455 

Lip  to  lip,  their  breath  and  their  souls  com- 
mingled, each  clasped  the  other  in  a  convulsive 
embrace — that  other  who  was  a  precious  part  of 
oneself,  the  adored  one, — in  a  glowing  conscious- 
ness of  being  snatched  from  death. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHERE  DUTY   CALLS 

GANDOLPHE  reappeared — greeted  by  a  twin  look 
of  affection  and  gratitude.  The  good  fellow  ap- 
plied himself  at  once  to  scattering  some  lingering 
embarrassment.  They  had  got  Madame  Darboise 
there.  What  was  the  next  thing?  Why,  to  keep 
her  at  Dunkerque  awhile  at  least,  and  try  to 
"wangle"  a  permit  for  that  purpose. 

"And  when  you  go  back  again, "  he  said,  "per- 
haps your  husband  will  follow  you!" 

"How's  that?" 

The  sergeant  had  received  another  letter  from 
Maupeou:  "He  talks  about  a  situation  at  the 
Ministry.  I  know,  if  I  were  you " 

What !  Jean  escaping  from  that  prison !  Andree 
was  struck  with  wonder  at  this  crowning  mercy,  so 
unhoped-for. 

She  expressed  her  wish  to  send  a  telegram. 

"To  whom?" 

"Mamma." 

"What  for?" 

"Why,  to  make  her  easy  about  you!" 
456 


Where  Duty  Calls  457 

"Hum!  I'll  bet  she  wanted  to  stop  you  from 
coming!" 

"You  don't  know  her!  Do  you  know  what 
she's  never  stopped  preaching  to  me?  Forgive- 
ness. And  what  she  was  never  tired  of  proving  to 
me?  The  madness  of  a  complete  break. " 

"Yet  another,"  observed  Gandolphe,  "who  is 
shown  to  be  different  from  what  you  thought. " 

Dear  old  sergeant!  From  the  first  moments 
of  their  renewed  intimacy,  his  name  had  been  so 
often  on  Darboise's  lips  that  Andr6e  got  prettily 
impatient — ' '  I  shall  be  jealous  of  him ! ' '  She  was 
stupefied  at  first  when  Jean  had  summed  up  for 
her  the  odd  yet  logical  train  of  circumstances 
which  had  betrothed  Gandolphe  and  Sylvaine: 

"No!  And  so  unsuited  to  each  other,  they 
seem  tome!" 

And  then  she  accepted  the  matter  as  just  one 
miracle  among  the  others. 

When  she  saw  him  again,  she  said : 

"Jean's  been  telling  me  that  we're  going  to  be 
cousins." 

"Who  can  say  yet!"  he  replied,  with  a  tone  of 
secret  sadness  which  surprised  her  a  little. 

They  were  proposing  to  dine  at  the  d'Estignards, 
and  the  sergeant  would  go  with  them.  Could 
there  be  any  pleasure  in  it  without  him? 


The  train  had  deposited  them  in  the  Place  de 
1'Eglise.    It  was  cold,  wet,  and  windy;  but  Andree, 


458  A  Life  at  Stake 

holding  Jean's  arm  tightly,  whispered  to  him, 
"How  good  it  is  to  be  alive!" 

She  was  gleeful  as  a  child  at  the  thought  of 
their  host's  surprise  at  the  villa  when  they  saw 
them.  Darboise  shared  her  delight,  and  dreamed 
as  he  walked.  And  Gandolphe's  affectionate 
smile  dwelt  on  them. 

They  rang,  and  then,  as  intimate  friends  of  the 
house,  pushed  open  the  gate. 

Sylvaine  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  steps  and 
came  down  to  meet  them.  Mischievously,  Andree 
went  round  and  hid  behind  some  bushes.  She  had 
meant  to  cry  "Cuckoo!"  on  her — but  she  was 
silenced  and  troubled  by  the  anxiety  and  even 
consternation  depicted  on  the  girl's  face.  Sylvaine 
went  straight  to  Gandolphe,  who  nodded  his  head 
as  he  greeted  her: 

"Yes,  it  is  so, "  he  said. 

"You  are  going?" 

"I'm  going." 

"Where  to?"  Jean  asked,  astounded. 

Andree  had  come  up,  and  the  young  girl  sud- 
denly realised  her  cousin's  presence: 

"You!     You!'1 

She  ran  to  her  and  kissed  her,  but  her  thoughts 
seemed  elsewhere.  Darboise  scented  some  dis- 
aster : 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"What,  indeed!"  said  Sylvaine:  "Don't  you 
know?  He's  taken  out  of  the  Auxiliary  and 
they're  sending  him  to  the  front!" 


Where  Duty  Calls  459 

"To  the  front?     Impossible!"  cried  Darboise. 

"Yes,  quite  true!"  said  the  sergeant;  "I've 
been  re-examined. " 

"When?" 

"This  morning." 

'  'And — taken  back,  with  your  eyesight,  with " 

"It's  equal  to  a  certificate  of  good  health,  at 
least!" 

Sylvaine  had  known  the  result  of  the  exami- 
nation since  noon,  through  Dr.  Alquier.  The 
Council,  it  appeared,  had  hesitated  to  give  a 
decision,  but  Corentin  had  put  his  shoulder  to 
the  wheel. 

They  looked  at  each  other  blankly.  In  vain 
did  Gandolphe  try  to  change  the  subject  and 
turn  the  conversation  on  to  Madame  DarbciV>o's 
coming,  so  unexpected,  so  delightful  for  everybody. 

"But  it's  unheard-of!"  Jean  repeated:  "De- 
mand another  examination ! ' ' 

"Never  in  this  world!  I'm  not  going  to  say 
that  the  decision  delights  me,  nor  that  I  count  on 
being  very  much  use.  But  I  shall  go  where 
they  send  me.  That's  the  first  thing,  in  these 
days." 

"This  shall  be  our  engagement  dinner,"  the 
young  girl  had  declared. 

So  it  was  a  family  party,  and  she  glided  into 
unconstrained  sweetness.  But  a  secret  oppres- 
sion weighed  upon  all  hearts. 

Gandolphe  alone  showed  a  lively  humour  which 
had  nothing  of  affectation  in  it.  Was  he  forcing 


460  A  Life  at  Stake 

himself?  Anyway,  it  was  impossible  to  catch 
him  at  a  loss  for  an  answer.  Every  allusion 
to  his  ill-luck  provoked  him  to  sprightly  retorts: 

"Don't  let's  exaggerate  my  ill-luck!  There  are 
several  millions  of  us  in  the  same  boat!" 

He  said  he  had  it  from  an  undeniable  source 
that  he  would  be  put  into  a  Territorial  unit : 

"We  shall  only  be  in  the  second  line.  Shall  I 
be  risking  much  more  than  I  am  here?" 

Was  he  telling  the  truth  ?  Amid  the  mild  excite- 
ment that  the  end  of  dinner  brings,  they  were  dis- 
posed to  believe  him.  Seated  at  his  wife's  side  Jean 
derived  from  her  nearness  a  sort  of  devout  optim- 
ism. The  two  older  d'Estignards  also  yielded  to 
the  mirage, — why,  yes,  this  prospective  son-in-law, 
at  his  age,  would  be  less  exposed  than  the  other 
one  was.  And  even  Sylvaine's  face  expressed — 
how  tenderly ! — a  sort  of  serenity  recovered. 


They  took  their  leave  early.  The  sky  was 
black  and  the  wind  rising,  and  heavy  rain  lashed 
their  faces.  Andree  murmured : 

"I'm  glad  you're  leaving  this  climate!" 

The  tram  came  up.  Only  Andree  found  a  place 
inside,  and  the  two  men  stood  on  the  platform. 

"What  a  day  it's  been,  now!"  said  Jean. 

"A  propitious  one!" 

"Not  for  everybody!" 

"If  the  sum-total  of  good  things  bears  them 
along  with  it." 


Where  Duty  Calls  461 

"And  you, — honestly,  what  mind  are  you  in 
about  it?" 

"I'm  seeking  reasons  for  resigning,  and  I'm 
finding  them.  Don't  you  think  that,  for  one  who 
aspires  to  play  a  big  part  and  to  exercise  some 
sort  of  authority  after  the  war,  it  will  be  better — 
to  have  been — there?" 

"Certainly."  «• 

"And  then —  In  a  low  voice,  the  sergeant 
confided  to  him  the  immense  progress  made  by 
him — today : 

"In  her  affections.  If  for  nothing  else  than 
that,  this  is  a  lucky  day." 

He  sighed : 

"Perhaps — that's  necessary;  I  must  go  into 
danger  that  she  may  love  me,  that  she  may  really 
love  me.  The  instinct  of  women ! ' ' 

Jean  was  again  of  the  same  opinion:  "That's 
true." 

And  as  he  and  Andre1  e  had  just  exchanged  ardent 
looks  through  the  glass  door,  he  was  inclined  to  be 
satisfied  with  this  facile  reasoning. 

Gandolphe  went  on : 

"Do  you  know  what  they  told  me  at  the 
Bureau?  That  little  Cazenave  has  applied  for 
leave  for  his  wedding?" 

"Really?"  said  Jean.  He  guessed  whom  the 
Bordelais  was  marrying. 


The  tram  was  clanging  its  way  through  the 


462  A  Life  at  Stake 

streets  of  Dunkerque,  already  dark  and  deserted. 
After  a  while,  Darboise  ventured : 

"And  your  little  ones,  sergeant?" 

"What  touches  me  most  is  that  they've  offered 
— not  she  only,  but  her  parents — to  have  them 
brought  to  Malo.  What  would  you  advise?" 

"To  accept." 

"And  I  intrust  them  to  you  all,  if — if  anything 
— happens  to  me. ' ' 

"What  do  you  think  may  happen  to  you?" 
said  Jean,  pretty  buoyantly. 

' '  Ah !  The  regiment  I'm  going  to  never  attacks ; 
but  it  loses  a  hundred  men  a  month. " 

Silence  followed.  The  sergeant  seemed  lost  in 
thought ;  his  eyes  were  wandering  over  the  murky 
expanse  outside,  the  landscape  which  they  could 
but  dimly  see  and  knew  to  be  desolate. 

The  flame  of  a  gas-lamp  flickering  in  the  wind 
marked  the  first  houses  of  St.  Pol.  They  got  out. 

"I'll  go  with  you  as  far  as  your  door,"  said  the 
sergeant. 

Fierce  squalls  opposed  their  steps,  and  icy  rain 
stung  their  faces.  The  starless  sky  was  still  heavy 
and  obscure.  Jean  took  hold  of  his  wife's  arm, 
and  the  sergeant  paddled  along  in  the  mud,  having 
yielded  them  the  footpath. 

After  a  hundred  yards  of  it,  and  by  way  of 
saying  something,  Jean  said : 

"What  I  owe  to  you,  old  chap!" 

"What  we  owe  you!"  Andree  repeated. 

"What  a  Providence  you  were  to  us!" 


Where  Duty  Calls  463 

"I've  done  what  I  could.  Happen  what  may 
to  me,  now!" 

This  was  no  longer  the  merry  tone  they  had 
heard  all  the  evening.  It  had  the  sound  of  fatal- 
ism, certainly,  but  begloomed  and  almost  bitter. 
As  Darboise  added  those  words  to  the  sentence 
that  had  already  escaped  Gandolphe  a  little  while 
before,  he  guessed  what  dread  was  shuddering  in 
the  depths  of  that  soul.  Very  natural,  too,  alas! 
He  himself,  what  apprehension  choked  him! 

Here  was  another  who  was  going  away,  yes — 
to  the  wintry  mud  of  the  trenches.  All  misery 
awaited  him — and  the  last  menace  of  all  hung  over 
him !  Was  that  noble-hearted  maiden  once  more 
to  see  him  she  had  chosen  taken  away?  Had 
those  little  ones  found  their  father  only  to  lose 
him  again?  A  gust  of  wind  brought  them  the 
boom  of  a  gun  which  every  evening  used  to  renew 
its  thunder  in  the  direction  of  Dixmude.  Would 
it  be  that  gun  which ? 

Jean  felt  his  heart  torn  asunder.  This  friend 
and  brother  and  master,  was  it  necessary  that  he 
also  should  go  yonder  whence  so  few  return,  after 
Claude  Boucheron  and  the  rest — he,  a  genius  in 
his  sphere,  he  the  high-minded  philosopher? 

They  arrived  in  front  of  the  house. 

While  Darboise  was  feeling  for  his  key,  a  ray 
from  the  electric  lamp  gave  him  a  glimpse  of  the 
triumphant  love  in  the  eyes  of  his  wife,  a  look  of 
rapture  which  reproached  the  contrasted  decrees 
of  Fate.  He  reddened,  and  took  the  sergeant's 


464  A  Life  at  Stake 

hand.  And  Andree,  releasing  Jean's  arm,  made  the 
same  affectionate  movement : 

"Ah!"  she  said:  "We  should  be  happy, — why 
must  it  be  this  that  spoils  everything — this  that 
has  happened  to  you ' 

Gandolphe  remained  silent  a  moment,  returning 
their  friendly  clasp.  Then  he  said,  in  a  fervent 
and  serious  voice: 

"Don't  let  us  complain  even  of  that.  As  long 
as  the  war  lasts,  it  would  be  wrong  to  be  happy!" 

THE    END 


Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Complete  Catalogues  sent 
on  application 


Ordeal  by  Fire 

By 

Marcel  Berger 

A  Sergeant  in  the  French  Army 


The  French  "Mr.  Britling' 

Everyone  who  has  read  "Mr. 
Britling  Sees  It  Through"  will 
want  to  read  "Ordeal  by  Fire." 

An  inspiring  portrayal  of  the 
spirit  of  the  French  people  and 
of  Fighting  France. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


The 

Secret  of  the  Marne 

How  Sergeant  Fritach  Saved  France 

By 
Marcel  Berger 

Author  of  "  Ordeal  by  Fire" 

and 

Maude  Berger 


In  a  novel  rivalling  the  most  exciting  de- 
tective story,  but  written  with  amazing  power, 
the  t  authors  build  their  story  around  that 
glorious  Marne  week,  when  von  Kluck  and 
his  cohorts  turned  to  the  southeast  instead 
of  rushing  on  Paris.  Why  did  he  make  this 
initial  mistake  that  resulted  in  the  Victory  of 
the  Marne!  There  was  a  young  French 
sergeant  who  knew,  a  witty,  daringly  brave 
young  man,  a  magnificent  linguist,  and  expert 
tactician, — and  his  ladylove,  the  beautiful 
Marie-Anne,  daughter  of  the  stern  old  Mar- 
quis de  Serazereux,  knew  too. 

Marcel  Berger  studied  closely  as  soldier, 
and  later  as  visitor,  the  several  regions  de- 
scribed, and  the  novel  is  as  accurate  in 
historical  detail  as  it  is  astounding  in  invention. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


The   Night   Cometh 

By 
Paul  Bourget 

Translated  by  Frederic  Lees 


Perhaps  the  most  important  work  of 
imagination  yet  written  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  war.  A  French  military 
hospital  is  the  scene  of  the  story,  and 
its  chief  characters  are  a  famous  Paris 
surgeon  and  a  young  wounded  officer, 
whose  fervent  Catholic  piety  is  in 
sharp  contrast  with  the  doctor's  philo- 
sophic materialism.  Death  threatens 
both,  and  their  opposing  theories  with 
regard  to  it  are  displayed  in  their  re- 
lation to  a  drama  of  the  most  intense 
human  passion. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York  London 


That  Which  Hath  Wings 

By 
Richard  Dehan 

Author  of  "  One  Braver  Thing,"  '*  Between  Two  Thieves," 
"The  Man  of  Iron,"  etc. 


The  author's  splendid  story-telling  gift 
triumphs  again  in  the  creation  of  strong 
characters  and  dramatic  situations  and  the 
picturization  of  Europe  hovering  on  the  brink 
of  Armageddon — hectic,  pleasure-seeking 
countries,  living  in  false  security,  and  form- 
ing a  contrasting  prelude  to  the  greatest  of 
world  tragedies.  A  novel  vibrating  with 
action,  in  which  there  is  love,  but  beset  with 
obstacles,  and  villainy  which  meets  its  match. 
Several  of  the  characters  familiar  to  readers 
of  One  Braver  Thing  ("The  Dop  Doctor") 
again  make  then:  appearance  under  circum- 
stances that  intensify  their  interest.  A 
colorful  story  of  love  and  war,  of  wrath  and 
humor,  masterfully  told. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


